NEW    ENGLAND    LIFE. 


CENTURY  OF  GOSSIP 


OR, 


THE  REAL  AND  THE  SEEMING. 


BY  WILLAKD  G.  NASH. 


CHICAGO: 
W.  B.  KEEN,  COOKE  &  CO. 

1876. 


COPYRIGHT. 


A.  D.    1876. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
UNCLE  HENRY 5 

CHAPTER  II. 
DEACON  WELLS 22 

CHAPTER  III. 
BESSIE  JONES 45 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  GOSSIPS  AND  OTHERS 70 

CHAPTER  V. 
JAMES  WELLS 93 

CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  FORGERY 124 

CHAPTER  VII. 
IN  THE  SHOE  SHOP 150 

CHAPTER  VIII- 
RETRIBUTION _  179 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  ABUSE  OP  THE  PARDONING  POWER 200 

CHAPTER  X. 
DIVORCED 217 

CHAPTER  XI. 
GEORGE  WELLS _ 232 

CHAPTER  XII. 
ODDS  AND  ENDS 268 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
HEELING  AND  TOEING .300 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
AT  HOME .._,..  ..313 


M11973 


£EJVITURY  of 


1 


CHAPTER    I. 

UNCLE    HENRY. 

O  New  England  village  is  complete  with 
out  a  shoe  shop.  It  is  the  place  of  resort 
for  old  and  young;  the  "home,"  where 
male  gossips  love  to  congregate  in  the  evening 
and  pass  around  the  tit-bits  of  scandal  that  have 
been  gathered  during  the  day.  Bits  of  scandal 
never  grow  less  by  being  passed  around  in  a 
shoe  shop;  and  in  this  respect  scandal  is  unlike 
a  plug  of  tobacco,  'though  both  are  pernicious. 
There  are  in  New  England  many  noble  men 
whose  homes  are  brightened  and  gladdened  by 
that  gentle  and  refining  influence  that  a  good 
man  never  fails  to  exert;  men  who  —  not  cursed 
by  lands  or  gold  —  are  rich  in  all  that  makes  life 
(5) 


6  A   Cehtury  of  Gossip. 

desirable;  but  they  do  not  spend  their  evenings 
in  a  shoe  shop.  They  regard  life  as  too  short  to 
be  frittered  away  in  worse  than  idle  talk,  too 
precious  to  be  spent  in  retailing  scandal;  and 
yet  one  sometimes  hears  good  things  in  a  shoe 
shop.  Among  the  mass  of  chaff  a  few  grains  of 
wheat  are  found. 

The  shoe  shop  at  Elton  village  is  a  venerable 
structure  that  has  withstood  the  storms  of  many 
seasons.  Whether  it  was  built  immediately 
before,  or  after,  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
was  signed,  is  still  an  open  question,  which  is 
discussed  with  a  great  deal  of  animation  on  each 
recurring  Fourth  of  July.  Uncle  Henry,  the 
proprietor,  stoutly  maintains  that  it  was  built  by 
the  red  men,  early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and 
that  its  red  front  had  grown  gray  with  age  when 
he  first  entered  it,  sixty  years  ago.  The  reader 
may  regard  Uncle  Henry's  story  as  an  old  man's 
dream,  but,  in  this  locality,  his  veracity  is  un 
doubted.  Men  seldom  lie  without  a  motive,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  induce  Uncle  Henry  to  lie 
about  so  simple  a  thing  as  the  age  of  his  little 
weather-beaten  shoe  shop;  therefore,  the  writer 
believes  that  it  was  built  by  the  Indians,  and 


Uncle  Henry.  J 

has  been  the  popular  resort  for  Elton  gossips  for 
more  than  a  hundred  years. 

A  hundred  years!  How  many  hearts  have 
bled  in  consequence  of  innuendoes  born  and  nur 
tured  within  those  walls,  and  sent  forth  on  their 
errand  of  death.  To-day,  as  a  hundred  years 
ago,  the  shaft  of  malice  seeks  its  victim  with 
unerring  flight,  blights  like  the  deadly  upas,  and 
consigns  the  innocent  to  an  unhonored  grave. 

A  hundred  years!  And  the  little  shoe  shop 
remains  unchanged,  save  that  wide  maple  boards 
have  taken  the  place  of  the  puncheon  floor,  and 
the  little  sapling  at  the  northeast  corner  has 
grown  to  a  stately  elm,  where  the  robin  builds 
her  nest  in  the  early  spring  time.  It  is  well  for 
the  mother  bird  that  her  brood  cannot  under 
stand  a  word  of  the  scandal  that  poisons  the  air 
they  breathe. 

Uncle  Henry  is  not  a  scandal  monger,  and  sel 
dom  participates  even  in  the  less  harmful  gossip 
to  which  he  is  nightly  compelled  to  listen.  Why 
don't  he  stop  it?  Simply  because  all  New 
England  villagers  recognize  the  right  of  the 
gossips  to  congregate  at  the  shoe  shop.  Can 
a  strong-minded  woman  suppress  the  sewing 


8  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

circle?  Can  the  President  of  the  United  States 
abolish  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus?  The  respon 
sibility  would  be  light  compared  with  an 
attempt  to  exclude  the  gossips  from  a  shoe 
shop  in  a  small  village.  Uncle  Henry  works  on 
his  farm  four  months  of  the  year — a  genuine 
Coast-of-Maine  farm,  the  products  of  which  give 
little  trouble  to  the  tax  assessor;  they  are  all 
summed  up  under  the  two  headings,  "  Tons  of 
Hay,"  and  "Bushels  of  Potatoes."  True,  the 
crop  might  be  cultivated  and  gathered  in  four 
weeks,  but  Uncle  Henry  is  a  philosopher.  He 
profits  by  the  teachings  of  "  Farming  Made 
Easy,"  and  maintains  that  "the  harder  a  man 
works  on  a  Coast-of-Maine  farm  the  worse  he  is 
off."  His  stock  consists  of  a  horse,  two  cows,  a 
yearling  calf,  and  a  pig,  and  he  is  content  to 
work  four  months  on  the  farm  to  get  them  hay 
and  potatoes,  and  the  rest  of  the  time  in  the 
shop,  to  provide  meal  for  their  sustenance;  and, 
in  this  respect,  he  is  not  unlike  other  farmers  in 
this  locality,  who  labor  eight  months  of  the  year 
in  the  ship  yards,  or  elsewhere,  in  order  that  they 
may  "  keep  up  the  place."  The  old  man  is  hon 
est,  frugal,  and  strictly  orthodox,  adhering  to  the 


Uncle  Henry.  9 

teachings  of  his  ancestors,  and  having  "  no  faith 
in  these  new-fangled  ways  of  crimping  boots  or 
getting  to  Heaven,"  regarding  both  as  devices 
of  the  devil  —  one  to  rob  men  of  their  money, 
and  the  other  to  cheat  them  of  their  souls. 
Crimping  machines,  liberal  theology,  and  oak- 
tanned  sole  leather,  comprise  the  list  of  his 
abominations.  He  will  not  place  his  soul  in 
jeopardy  by  putting  an  oak-tanned  sole  on  a 
stoga  boot;  and  there  is  something  that  borders 
on  the  sublime  in  his  devotion  to  the  Baptist 
creed  and  hemlock  tan.  His  father  believed  in 
the  efficacy  of  cold  water  and  hemlock  bark,  and 
why  should  the  son  reject  the  creed  of  the 
father?  Who  shall  say  that  in  this  he  has  not 
chosen  the  wiser  part?  In  view  of  the  liberal 
ism  of  the  nineteenth  century  —  which  verges 
on  unbridled  license  —  is  it  not  well  to  ingraft  a 
little  of  the  faith  of  our  fathers  into  the  theo 
logical  tree?  Its  growth  may  be  retarded,  yet  it 
will  bear  better  fruit.  But  the  "  liberalism  "  of 
the  nineteenth  century  is  not  confined  to  the 
ology.  Appropriating  to  our  own  use  the 
property  of  another  is  simply  a  u  little  irregu 
larity,"  and  downright,  old-fashioned  stealing  is 


io  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"embezzling."  The  murderer  goes  unwhipped 
of  justice,  because  modern  science,  stimulated 
by  liberalism,  pronounces  him  temporarily 
insane.  The  man  who  steals  a  sheep  has 
"  engaged  in  the  mutton  business,"  and  a 
gambler  is  a  dealer  in  pasteboard  and  ivorjr. 
The  government  official  whose  accounts  show  a 
deficit  of  a  few  thousand  dollars,  merely  "got 
the  best  of  Uncle  Sam  in  that  little  financial 
transaction."  Under  the  magnifying  influence 
of  our  unbounded  liberalism,  the  quack  succeeds 
the  educated  physician,  and  brass  commands  a 
premium  while  brains  are  discounted. 

Liberalism  is  demoralizing  political  parties. 
The  wise  men,  to  whom  we  looked  for  counsel 
and  advice,  have  been  superseded  by  self-consti 
tuted  leaders,  who  have  not  learned  the  alphabet 
of  political  economy.  Under  their  management 
party  conventions  are  not  deliberative  bodies; 
they  are  simply  the  meetings  of  the  mob  to 
reward  unlimited  cheek  and  ignore  worth  and 
merit.  It  will  be  well  for  the  people  when  they 
learn  to  distinguish  between  the  real  and  the 
seeming,  and  open  their  eyes  to  the  impractica 
bility  of  stocking  a  tan-yard  with  a  shoe-string. 


Uncle  Henry.  1 1 

These  new  ideas  about  religious,  political,  and 
social  life  are  not  "  fellowshipped "  by  Uncle 
Henry.  He  does  not  believe  in  "ideas."  He 
knows  how  to  do  honest  work,  understands  the 
multiplication  table,  and  is  familiar  with  the 
writings  of  St.  Paul  ;  but  he  never  tried  to 
fathom  the  mystery  of  the  Credit  Mobilier,  or 
solve  the  financial  problem.  His  theory  is,  that 
a  shoemaker  should  stick  to  his  last,  and  it  will 
last  him  all  his  life.  His  shop  contains  two 
shoe  benches,  a  chair,  a  stove  and  two  long  seats 
placed  at  the  sides,  for  the  accommodation  of 
numerous  visitors.  He  locks  his  shop  ;  not 
because  it  contains  articles  of  value,  but  he 
do  n't  want  to  apologize  for  the  absence  of  such 
articles  if  a  thief  should  happen  to  break  in. 
Men  dislike  to  apologize.  A  fop  will  step  on 
the  trail  of  a  lady's  dress  and  make  what  he  is 
pleased  to  term  a  graceful  apology,  but  a  true 
man  always  regrets  the  necessity,  and  performs 
the  unpleasant  task  much  as  a  schoolboy  submits 
to  his  first  flogging — from  a  sense  of  duty. 

"A  fine  evening,  Uncle  Henry."  And  Philip, 
the  philosopher,  sat  down  on  the  vacant  chair, 
stretched  his  long  legs  under  the  high  stove, 


12  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

took  in  a  bountiful  supply  of  the  Virginia  weed, 
and  prepared  to  enjoy  a  quiet  evening  with  the 
venerable  shoemaker.  It  was  a  bitter  cold  night, 
and  Philip  "  calculated  "  that  the  gossips  would 
not  venture  out.  Our  philosopher  does  not  like 
the  gossips.  "  If  you  can  't  speak  well  of  a  man, 
hold  your  tongue,"  is  his  motto,  and  it  would  be 
well  if  the  world  would  adopt  it.  Philip  is  con 
tent  to  enjoy  the  world  as  he  found  it,  knowing 
full  well  that  he  cannot  reform  even  so  small  a 
part  of  it  as  Elton  village.  Armed  with  a  clay 
pipe,  a  plug  of  tobacco,  a  card  of  matches,  and 
his  old  flint-lock  rifle,  he  can  spend  a  day  in  the 
woods  wholly  unmindful  of  the  supply  of  wood 
at  home.  The  dream  of  a  genuine  philosopher 
is  never  disturbed  by  the  size  of  the  wood  pile, 
or  the  condition  of  the  flour  barrel.  Philip  is  a 
patient  and  persistent  hunter,  but  he  never  gets 
any  game,  except  an  occasional  game  of  whist 
won  at  a  sitting  with  the  village  parson,  who  has 
not  outgrown  a  fondness  for  that  branch  of  his 
schoolboy  studies.  Our  philosopher  is  too  kind- 
hearted  to  kill  anything.  He  "  drew  bead  "  on 
a  fine  doe,  last  fall,  when  her  fawn  came  up,  and 
he  lowered  his  gun,  with  the  remark,  "  I  can 't 


Uncle  Henry.  13 

make  an  orphan  of  that  beautiful  fawn;  I'll  go 
without  venison  first."  As  the  mother  deer 
bounded  away,  accompanied  by  her  graceful 
lawn,  a  robin  sang  a  sweet  carol,  which  went 
straight  to  Philip's  heart,  and  he  thanked  God 
that  he  had  not  disturbed  the  winged  blessing 
by  an  ill-timed  shot. 

"A  fine  evening,  Uncle  Henry,  but  it  will 
rain  to-morrow." 

"  How  do  you  know? " 

"  The  water  bubbles  up  through  the  ice  on  the 
ponds.  A  sure  sign  of  rain." 

"  Your  sign  will  fail  this  time,  Philip.  'T  is 
too  cold  to  rain." 

"  I  know  it  is  cold.  As  the  tide  ebbed  to-day, 
the  ice  in  the  river  creaked  and  sounded  colder 
than  anything  I  ever  heard,  except  a  hypocrite's 
prayer,  but  it  will  rain  for  all  that.  The  weather 
changes  this  winter  quicker  than  a  politician 
can  change  his  tactics." 

"  Does  the  prayer  of  a  hypocrite  sound  so  very 
cold  to  you  ? " 

"Yes,  sort  o'  coolish,  Uncle  Henry.  There,  is 
no  heart  in  a  hypocrite's  prayer.  When  my  Joe 
runs  away  from  school,  and  lies  to  me  about  it, 


14  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

his  voice  almost  freezes  me;  and  when  I  hear  a 
hypocrite  pray,  it  always  reminds  me  of  Joe's 
lies,  and  I  want  to  get  near  the  fire." 

"If  I  didn't  know  your  habits  so  well,  I 
should  guess  that  you  had  been  up  on  the  hill, 
listening  to  one  of  Deacon  "Wells'  prayers. 
Your  description  is  complete." 

"  I  never  heard  the  Deacon  pray.  All  I  know 
about  him  is  what  I  hear  from  the  boys  in  here, 
and  'taint  always  safe  to  bet  on  the  boys,  you 
know." 

"  Not  always,  Philip,  but  boys  form  wonder 
fully  correct  opinions  about  men,  and  they 
generally  speak  the  truth." 

"Yes;  'though  they  are  quite  apt  to  jump  at 
conclusions." 

"  While  men  hesitate,  ponder,  and  get  lost  in 
the  fog." 

"  Is  n't  it  well  to  *  hesitate  and  ponder '  before 
passing  judgment  on  a  man's  character?  The 
great  want  of  the  age  is  a  want  of  charity.  We 
judge  men  harshly,  magnifying  the  evil  and 
losing  sight  of  the  good  that  is  in  them.  While 
men  do  not  '  hesitate  and  ponder '  as  much  as 
they  should,  boys  form  their  opinions  of  char- 


Uncle  Henry.  15 

acter,  as  of  everything  else,  from  impulse,  and 
don't  reason  at  all;  so,  'taint  always  safe  to  bet 
on  the  boys." 

"  I  'd  sooner  risk  a  boy's  instinct  than  a  man's 
reason,  on  the  question  of  character.  The 
Almighty  writes  a  plain  hand,  and  boys  read 
it  more  readily  than  men." 

"  What  has  God  written  on  the  face  of  Dea 
con  Wells,  that  you  should  pronounce  him  a 
hypocrite  ? " 

"What  has  he  not  written  there?  His  little 
sunken,  snake-like  eyes,  thin  lips,  low  forehead, 
and  sharp  chin,  all  bear  evidence  of  his  cold- 
heartedness,  and  a  cold-hearted  man  can  't  be  a 
Christian." 

"Parson  Green  has  small,  sunken  eyes,  thin 
lips,  and  a  low  forehead.  Is  he  a  hypocrite?  " 

Here  was  a  dilemma.  Uncle  Henry  greatly 
disliked  Deacon  Wells,  who  spent  much  of  his 
time  in  the  shoe  shop,  and  the  old  man  never 
detected  his  striking  resemblance  to  Parson 
Green.  The  Parson  is  a  true  Christian,  kind, 
liberal,  and  devoted  to  his  people.  For  many 
years  he  has  ministered  to  the  spiritual  wants  of 
the  parish.  Philip  and  Uncle  Henry  echo  the 


1 6  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

sentiments  of  all  his  people  when  they  pro 
nounce  him  "  the  best  man  on  the  coast  of 
Maine."  His  charity  is  unbounded.  On  his 
first  Sunday  in  Elton,  his  prayer  that  "all  men 
might  be  saved,"  startled  a  few  of  the  old  cast- 
iron  pillars  of  the  church,  and  they  "  feared  he 
wan't  sound  on  doctrinal  pints,"  but  he  has 
won  them  over,  by  his  pure  life  and  gentle 
teachings,  and  they,  long  ago,  ceased  to  look  for 
something  to  condemn  in  Parson  Green.  "  Does 
he  believe  in  the  orthodox  hell?"  That  ques 
tion,  kind  reader,  can  be  answered  only  by  the 
Parson.  He  does  not  portray  its  horrors  to  the 
young  men  of  Elton  in  order  to  frighten  them 
into  a  pretended  worship  of  the  Divine  Master. 
He  does  not  teach  that  cringing  fear  of  hell  will 
fit  a  man  for  Heaven.  He  is  content  to  teach 
his  people  that  "  God  is  love,"  and  dwell  on  His 
protecting  care,  leaving  others  —  to  whom  the 
task  is  congenial  —  to  tell  of  His  vengeance  and 
His  hate.  He  reads  with  pleasure  and  indorses 
much  of  "  Collier's  Every-day  Subjects  in  Sun 
day  Sermons,"  and  thinks  "  Talmage's  Abomi 
nations  "  well  named.  Parson  Green  never 
wears  a  long  face,  except  on  funeral  occasions, 


Uncle  Henry.  17 

and  then  it  requires  all  his  self-control  to  keep 
his  facial  muscles  properly  elongated.  If  the 
deceased  brother's  soul  is  in  Heaven,  why  should 
the  pastor  look  so  sad  about  it?  This  question 
always  torments  him  at  a  funeral.  He  is  a 
sunnv  Christian,  who  believes  in  scatter! n 2  sun- 

"  O 

shine  wherever  he  goes.  He  has  taught  the 
fathers  and  mothers  in  Israel  to  look  cheerful  — 
instead  of  weeping  —  when  they  relate  their 
"  experience  "  at  the  monthly  conference  meet 
ing.  Under  his  genial  influence,  the  young  folks 
have  substituted  "  Charades  "  and  "  Authors  " 
for  "Copenhagen"  and  "Chase  the  Squirrel." 
The  boys  do  not  swear  on  the  base-ball  ground, 
for  our  Parson  is  always  there  —  the  best  bat 
among  them.  The  young  people  love  him,  and 
he  gathers  them  into  the  fold.  A  prayer  in  the 
village  of  Elton  is  not  complete  unless  it  con 
cludes  with  "  God  bless  our  Parson  Green." 
Will  not  God  bless  him  who  so  richly  blesses 
his  fellow  man?  "  For  whosoever  hath,  to  him 
shall  be  given,  and  he  shall  have  more  abund 
ance."  It  would  be  well  for  the  morals  of  the 
nation  if  every  ward  and  village  could  boast  of 
a  Parson  Green.  He  does  not  attempt  to  plow 
2 


1 8  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

the  barren  fields  of  narrow  orthodoxy,  nor  does 
he  cultivate  the  noxious  weeds  of  a  dangerous 
liberalism.  JSTo  man  in  the  village  has  a  warmer 
friendship  for  the  Parson  than  Uncle  Henry,  and 
when  Philip  asked  the  question,  the  old  man 
drove  the  pegs  with  increased  vigor  for  a 
moment,  and  replied: 

"  Much  as  I  dislike  gossip,  I  can  't  refrain 
from  expressing  my  opinion  of  Deacon  Wells. 
It  is  sacrilege  for  you  to  mention  the  two  in  the 
same  breath.  They  have  not  the  same  expres 
sion,  by  a  long  shot,  and  the  Deacon's  headpiece 
do  n't  begin  with  the  Parson's." 

"  No ;  but  their  features  are  alike  ;  which 
simply  proves  that  we  can't  read  God's  hand 
writing." 

"  Well,  there  's  a  good  deal  in  it,  Philip.  Of 
course  there  are  exceptions  to  all  rules.  You 
can't  find  a  striped  squirrel  in  every  hollow 
fence  pole,  but  that  is  the  place  to  look  for 
them." 

"  Yes  ;  and  studying  physiognomy  is  much 
like  hunting  striped  squirrels.  It  doesn't  pay 
for  the  time  wasted." 

"  That  depends.     If  a  man  is  fond  of  striped 


Uncle  Henry.  19 

squirrels,  it  pays  to  hunt  them;  and  if  he  has  a 
taste  for  physiognomy,  it  pays  to  study  it." 

"  And,  after  he  has  studied  for  years,  reject  it 
on  account  of  the  'exceptions'?  The  idea  that 
the  '  exception  proves  the  rule '  won't  do. 
Fixed  rules,  only,  are  worthy  of  confidence. 
There  are  too  many  '  exceptions '  in  physi 
ognomy." 

•'  There  you  are  treading  on  dangerous 
ground,  my  boy.  No  fact  is  better  established 
than  that  '  there  are  exceptions  to  all  general 
rules.'  It  is  the  rule  that  boys  raised  under 
proper  influences  make  good  men,  but  some 
times  a  preacher's  son  turns  out  badly.  He  is 
an  '  exception'." 

"Not  necessarily.  Preachers'  sons  are  not 
always  raised  under  '  proper  influences.'  There 
is  often  a  wide  difference  between  the  private 
and  public  life  of  a  preacher  —  a  difference 
which  boys  readily  perceive  —  and  it  is  this 
evidence  of  hypocrisy  that  makes  them  'turn 
out  badly.'  If  the  father  is  simply  a  guide- 
board,  the  son  will  take  another  road  than  that 
which  is  pointed  out  to  him.  The  devil  needs 


2O  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

no  better  servants  than  men  who  stand  still  and 
point  out  the  way.  The  few  who  attempt  to 
follow  their  directions  are  soon  lost  in  doubt, 
and  those  who  know  them  best  are  sure  to  take 
the  other  road." 

"  But  a  spiritual  guideboard  is  only  another 
1  exception'  which  proves  the  rule." 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  entrance  of  Deacon  Wells,  who, 
in  spite  of  the  cold,  "  came  in  to  put  a  few  nails 
in  his  boot-heel."  Uncle  Henry  kindly  gave 
him  a  last,  hammer,  and  nails,  knowing  full 
well  that  the  Deacon's  object  was  to  save  fifteen 
cents  by  doing  his  own  cobbling.  Not  that  he 
might  purchase  with  it  the  necessaries  of  life; 
not  that  he  might  give  it  to  the  poor,  or  place  it 
in  the  missionary  box.  The  Deacon  does  not 
lend  his  money  to  the  Lord.  He  is  saving  it  to 
buy  the  "Jones  place,"  which  is  to  be  sold  by 
the  Sheriff  next  week.  As  Jones  —  his  early 
friend  and  benefactor  —  is  dead,  and  the  orphan 
children  have  no  moneyed  friends  to  assist  them, 
he  thinks  it  "  can  be  bought  at  a  bargain."  And 
so  it  can ;  but  the  devil  will  be  a  party  to  the 


Uncle  Henry. 


21 


contract,  and  he  will  surely  foreclose  his  mort 
gage  on  Deacon  Wells.  This  world  would  be 
a  paradise,  weeded  of  the  Deacon  and  kindred 
spirits. 


CHAPTER    II. 

DEACON    WELLS. 


^IJYATIENCE,  black  my  best  boots,  git  out 
Ij  my  great  coat,  and  patch  up  this  ragged 
J\  ten  cents.  I  shall  be  late  to  conference." 
And  Deacon  Wells  took  from  his  pocket  the 
county  paper  —  borrowed  from  a  neighbor  —  and 
read  the  advertisement  of  the  Sheriff  offering  the 
Bently  farm  at  public  auction.  Since  his  pur 
chase  of  the  (~  Jones  place,"  he  has  a  fondness 
for  that  kind  of  reading  matter.  He  has  read 
that  same  advertisement  a  dozen  times  during 
the  w^eek,  but  he  will  read  it  again,  and  calculate 
how  many  dollars  he  can  realize  out  of  his  antic 
ipated  "  bargain,"  by  way  of  preparing  his  mind 
for  conference.  He  regretted  to  spare  the  half- 
day,  for  he  is  the  town  tax-gatherer  —  a  position 
for  which  he  is  eminently  fitted;  and  were  he 
the  county  hangman,  the  "  eternal  fitness  of 


Deacon    Wells.  23 

things "  would  still  be  preserved.  Like  many 
other  tax-gatherers,  the  Deacon  oppresses  the 
poor  and  lets  the  rich  "pay  when  they  find  it 
convenient,"  and  on  that  particular  Saturday  he 
expected  to  levy  on  Widow  Brown's  cow,  and 
have  his  son  Elijah,  the  pride  of  his  heart,  bid 
her  off  for  the  paltry  sum  of  three  dollars  and 
eighty-eight  cents;  but  he  must  go  to  conference 
and  tell  his  "  experience." 

Tell  his  experience  ?  God  save  the  mark ! 
Conference  meetings  would  be  numbered  among 
the  things  that  were,  if  men  like  Deacon  Wells 
should  tell  what  is  hidden  in  their  hearts. 

The  Deacon's  family  consists  of  his  wife, 
Patience,  and  his  two  sons,  Elijah  and  James. 
Patience  Wells  is  as  broad  and  noble  as  her 
husband  is  narrow  and  selfish.  The  first  hour 
of  wedded  life  taught  her  that  she  had  made  a 
fatal  mistake.  A  poor  orphan,  weary  of  the 
hardships  of  her  lot,  she  married  for  a  home. 
The  Deacon  studiously  concealed  his  true  char 
acter  during  his  courtship,  and  wrhile  she  knew 
that  she  did  not  love  him,  she  imagined  that  she 
could  respect  and  obey,  and  might  "  learn  to  love 
him  in  time;  "  but  on  the  evening  of  their  mar- 


24  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

riage,  when  lie  told  her  she  "must  read  the 
Scripter,  jine  church,  and  live  as  a  deacon's 
wife  orter,"  she  realized  that  there  was  an 
impassable  gulf  between  them.  Joining  church 
was,  to  her,  something  more  than  a  mere  form, 
and  the  command  revealed  her  husband's  hypoc 
risy,  chilled  her  heart,  and  taught  her  the  sad 
lesson  of  his  cruel  deceit.  Bitter,  indeed,  would 
be  the  fruit  of  her  ill-starred  marriage,  but  she 
would  suffer  in  silence,  and  in  silence  she  suffers 
still.  She  is  only  one  of  the  great  army  of 
unhappy  wives,  who  find,  too  late,  that  they 
cannot  *•'  learn  to  love." 

Elijah  Wells,  the  Deacon's  first  born,  is  the 
"  improved  edition  "  of  his  father,  who  named 
him  "accordin'  to  Scripter."  There  is  nothing 
about  Elijah  that  suggests  Holy  "Writ,  save  his 
name.  His  conduct  is  sadly  at  variance  with  its 
teachings.  He  is  cold,  cruel,  and  grasping  ;  his 
father's  joy  and  his  mother's  great  sorrow.  All 
Elton  wonders  how  Patience  Wells  could  bear 
such  a  child;  but  Elton,  like  the  rest  of  the 
great  world,  has  not  fathomed  the  mysteries  of 
hereditary  transmission. 

James,  the  younger,  is  the  opposite  of  his 


Patience,  black  my  best  boots,  get  out  my  great  coat,  and 
patch  up  this  ragged  ten  cents.1'— PAGE  22. 


Deacon   Wells,  ?•$ 

brother.  He  lias  the  broad,  high  forehead,  and 
full,  hazel  eves  of  his  mother,  and  has  inherited 
many  of  her  excellent  traits  of  character;  but, 
unlike  her,  he  will  not  tamely  submit  to  the 
tyranny  of  his  father  and  brother.  By  the 
persistent  effort  of  his  mother  he  has  been 
kept  at  school  for  several  years,  has  access 
to  the  law  library  of  an  attorney  in  a  neigh 
boring  village,  and  is  preparing  to  enter  a 
profession  in  which  he  is  destined  to  make 
his  mark. 

"  Come,  Patience,  hurry  up.  I  must  be  there 
in  time.  A  deacon  orter  let  his  light  shine,  and 
not  hide  it  under  a  bushel.  (Or  a  peck  measure, 
thought  his  doubting  wife,  but  she  dared  not 
utter  her  thoughts.)  And  I  want  to  get  through 
in  time  to  levy  on  Widow  Brown's  cow,  if  I 
can.  If  I  give  her  time,  she  '11  raise  the  heft  of 
her  tax  by  sellin'  socks,  and  some  meddlin' 
neighbor  will  lend  her  the  rest,  and  I  will 
miss  that  cow." 

"  Has  Widow  Brown  more  than  one  cow?" 

"  Only  one.  She  sold  the  other  to  pay  her 
husband's  funeral  expenses." 

"  And  do  you  really  want  to  take  advantage 


26  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

of  her  necessities,  and  —  buy  her  only  cow  for  a 
song?" 

"Take  advantage  of  her  needcessities?  What 
a  fool  you  air,  Patience.  It  is  my  duty  to 
collect  the  taxes,  and  I  allers  try  to  do  my 
duty." 

•"  Why  don't  you  collect  the  tax  of  Esquire 
Gould?  The  amount  is  twenty  times  larger 
than  Widow  Brown's." 

."That's  a  hoss  of  another  color,  Patience 
'Squire  Gould  got  me  my  appintrnent,  and  I 
ain't  goin'  to  be  ongrateful." 

"  When,  at  conference,  you  ask  God  to  remem 
ber  the  poor,  will  not  thoughts  of  Widow 
Brown's  cow  intrude,  and  interfere  with  your 
devotions?" 

"  See  here,  Patience,  I  've  heered  enough  of 
that  nonsense.  The  Bible  says  a  man  that  don't 
look  out  for  his  own  household  is  worse  'n  a 
infidel  ;  and  I  b'lieve  the  Bible ;  there 's  the 
difference  atwixt  us." 

"Does  not  your  Bible  teach  you  to  care  for 
the  widow  and  the  fatherless? " 

"Ain't  I  as  much  of  a  orphan  as  Sam  Brown's 
children?  When  I'm  lookin'  out  for  myself, 


Deacon    Wells.  27 

I  'm  obeyin'  the  Scripteral  injunkshun  to  look 
out  for  the  fatherless." 

"  You  have  enough,  and  to  spare.  If  you  will 
pay  the  widow's  taxes,  instead  of  rob  —  taking 
her  cow,  God  will  bless  you  for  the  deed." 

u  You  'd  better  make  a  confeshun  and  jine 
church  afore  you  preach  to  one  of  the  Lord's 
anninted.  I  'm  tired  of  heeriii'  that  nonsense. 
God  blesses  the  man  as  looks  out  for  number 
one;  and  that 's  me.  You  've  been  learnin'  Jim 
your  hifalutin'  noshuns  'till  you  've  made  him  a 
infidel.  He  told  me  to  my  face  that  I  might  as 
well  rob  the  Widow  Brown  as  to  buy  her  cow 
for  taxes.  He  said  i  rob,'  Patience,  and  that 's 
what  comes  of  your  sinful  conduct." 

"And  what  reply  did  you  make? " 

"  I  told  him  he  was  a  moonshiny  calf,  just  like 
his  mother,  and  didn't  know  beans  when  the 
bag's  open.  He  ain't  half  so  sharp  as  Elijah." 

"  I  hope  he  never  will  be  '  sharp '  enough  to 
oppress  the  poor.  I  do  not  uphold  him  in  his 
disrespect  for  his  father,  but  he  has  noble 
impulses." 

"Xoble  fiddlesticks!  He  has  the  imperence 
of  the  devil,  and  no  more  sense  than  a  suckin' 


28  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

dove.  It  all  comes  of  your  snivelin'  and  my 
yieldin'  to  your  foolish  noshun  about  sendin' 
him  to  skill  e." 

"  Yery  well,     I  will  take  the  responsibility." 

"Yes;  but  that  don't  pay  the  bills,  nor  make 
him  a  dutiful  son,  like  Elijah." 

Deacon  Wells  hurried  off  to  conference  to 
thank  God  that  he  was  "  not  as  other  men." 
Patience  went  to  her  room  to  weep.  J^ever 
before  had  she  dared  to  express  her  opinion  so 
freely  in  her  husband's  presence.  She  was  ter 
rified  by  her  own  boldness,  and  sought  relief  in 
woman's  great  panacea  —  tears. 

Conference  did  not  adjourn  in  time  for  the 
Deacon  to  "  levy  on  that  cow,"  and  he  went 
home  in  an  ill  humor;  and  vented  his  spleen  at 
the  supper  table  —  his  usual  custom.  On  Sun 
day  and  Monday  a  snow  storm  kept  him  in  the 
house  and  shoe  shop,  but  early  on  Tuesday 
morning  he  started  for  Widow  Brown's.  "That 

O 

track  looks  'mazin'ly  like  old  Charley's,"  he 
mused,  as  he  discovered  a  horse's  track  in  the 
snow;  "that  left  fore  shoe  is  as  like  it  as  two 
peas  in  a  pod;  but  it  can  't  be  his,  for  he  hain't 
been  out  of  the  barn  sense  conference."  He 


Deacon   Wells.  29 

V 

rode  on  in  the  bitter  cold  — a  fitting  morning 
for  his  errand  — occasionally  thinking  of  "that 
hoss  track."  In  due  time  he  reached  the  hum 
ble  home  of  "Widow  Brown,  and  entered  ^it 
without  knocking.  Deacon  Wells  never  knocks 
at  the  doors  of  the  poor.  Men  of  his  type 
cannot  be  courteous,  save  in  the  presence  of 
those  who  are  blessed  — or  cursed  — with 
wealth. 

"Good  mornin',  Sister  Brown.  I'm  sorry, 
but  my  duty  compels  me  to  levy  on  ,your  cow 
for  them  taxes." 

"  You  need  not  take  the  cow,  Deacon.  I  will 
pay  the  tax." 

The  crafty  tax-gatherer  could  not  conceal  his 
disappointment.  He  coveted  that  Durham  cow, 
and  some  "meddler"  had  foiled  him.  The 
widow  divined  his  thoughts,  and  rather  en 
joyed  his  discomfiture. 

"Where  did  you  git  the  money,  Sister 
Brown?" 

"That  is  an  impudent  question,  but  I  will 
answer  it.  God  put  it  into  the  heart  of  a  man 
more  charitable  than  you,  to  furnish  me  the 
money." 


30  A   Century  of  Gossij). 

."All  right,  Sister  Brown.  The  Bible  says 
that  charity  begins  at  home,  you  know." 

"The  Bible  does  not  say  so;  and,  if  it  did,  it 
would  not  say  that  it  should  end  at  home,  as 
your's  does." 

"Well,  Mis  Brown,  I  pay  my  taxes  and  all 
my  other  debts.     No  man  can  say  that  .1  owe" 
him  a  nine-pence,  and  there  ain't  many  men  can 
say  as  much." 

"  That  is  simply  your  duty,  and  it  is  not  a 
virtue.  Men  often  do  a  simple  act  of  justice 
that  the  law  might  enforce,  and  claim  credit  for 
magnanimity,  and  some  men  are  not  very  par 
ticular  as  to  the  manner  in  which  they  pay  their 
debts." 

"I  pay  mine  in  lawful  money,  Mis  Brown." 

"Was  it  all  obtained  in  a  lawful  manner, 
Deacon  Wells?" 

"  In  course  it  were.    Who  dare  say  't  wan't?" 

"Every  man,  woman,  and  child,  in  Elton, 
except  your  poor  wife,  dare  say  it,  Deacon. 
Even  your  son  James,  if  pressed,  would  not 
deny  it.  Do  you  think  the  Eltonians  have  for 
gotten  the  Jones  place?" 

:iThat  was  a  square   deal,  Mis  Brown.     The 


Deacon   Wells.  31 

Sheriff  sold  it  accord! n'  to  law  ;  I  bought  it 
accordin'  to  law,  and  paid  for  it  in  lawful 
money,  accordin'  to  law,  and  made  ten  thousand 
dollars—" 

"According  to  law;  but  where  does  the  jus 
tice  come  in?  Is  it  just  that  Bessie  Jones 
should  be  compelled  to  wear  her  life  out  by 
teaching  school  that  you  may  add  to  your  ill- 
gotten  gains?  Is  it  just  that  her  earnings 
should  be  used  to  support  her  crippled  brother 
when  you  honestly  owe  him  five  thousand  dol 
lars?  No,  Deacon  Wells.  You  have  robbed 
the  children  of  your  early  friend,  and  God  will 
surely  punish  you  for  it.  He  will  not  quite 
forget  sweet  Bessie  Jones." 

"  You  air  a  imperent,  ungodly  woman,  and  if 
you  was  wuth  anything,  I'd  make  you  prove 
what  ydti  say." 

"  I  shall  take  pleasure  in  doing  it  any  time 
that  may  suit  you,  Deacon." 

The  atmosphere  was  too  warm  for  Deacon 
Wells.  He  took  the  widow's  money,  gave  her  a 
scrawl  which  he  called  a  receipt,  and  started 
for  home,  in  a  very  uncomfortable  mood.  He 
knew  he  was  a  hypocrite,  but,  until  Mrs. 


32  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

Brown  opened  his  eyes,  lie  imagined  lie  was 
deceiving  all  the  world  except  his  son  Elijah. 
He  even  dreamed  that  he  was  deceiving  Patience 
and  James.  It  was  a  terrible  awakening  for 
Deacon  AVells.  Not  that  his  conscience  troubled 
him,  but,  like  other  men,  he  could  not  regard 
the  opinions  of  his  fellows  with  indifference. 
Men,  however  depraved,  never  sink  so  low  that 
public  opinion  cannot  reach  them,  nor  do  they 
rise  above  it.  It  governs  the  conduct  of-  the 
statesman,  and  dictates  the  utterances  of  the 
theologian.  It  tempts  the  criminal  to  go  from 
the  gallows  with  a  lie  upon  his  lips,  to  meet  an 
offended  God.  It  is  no  wonder  that  the  Deacon 
was  agitated  when  he  learned  the  verdict  of  the 
terrible  tribunal.  At  enmity  with  all  the  world, 
he  reached  home,  determined  to  "make  some 
body  smart." 

"  Elijah,  has  old  Charley  been  out  of  the  barn 
sense  conference? " 

"I  guess  not.  Maybe  Jim  had  him  out.  I 
hain't  used  him." 

"Where's  Jim?" 

"  Up  in  the  corner  bedroom,  with  his  head  in 
them  pesky  law  books." 


Deacon    Wells.  33 

"  Patience,  tell  Jim  to  come  down  here  imme- 
jiately." 

The  tired  mother  sought  her  son,  and  deliv 
ered  the  message.  She  knew  the  Deacon  was 
very  angry,  and  she  asked  James  to  keep  cool, 
and  remember  that  he  was  to  meet  and  talk  with 
his  father.  "  Above  all  things,  my  boy,  let  your 
language  be  courteous  and  respectful,"  was  her 
earnest  admonition.  "  I  will  try,  for  your  sake, 
dear  mother,"  was  his  reply,  as  he  went  down  to 
the  sitting  room,  firmly  resolved  to  obey;  but 
steel  cannot  clash  with  steel  without  bringing 
the  sparks. 

"  Jim,  have  you  had  old  Charley  out  of  the 
barn  sense  conference?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"When?" 

"  Last  evening." 

"  What  did  you  take  him  out  for? " 

"To  ride." 

"Where?" 

"Where  I  pleased  to  go,  father.  I  am  no 
longer  a  child ;  and,  even  in  childhood,  I  had  the 
privilege  of  taking  a  horse  from  the  stable,  and 
going  and  returning  unquestioned.  I  have  not 


34  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

injured  old  Charley,  nor  have  I  used  him  for  a 
bad  purpose.  This  assurance  ought  to  suffice." 

u  But  it  do  n't  *  suffice,'  my  sweet  blossom, 
and  if  you  don't  tell  me  where  you  went,  and 
what  you  went  for,  1  '11  cut  you  off  with  a 
shillin'.  If  you  air  too  big  to  larrup,  I  can 
fetch  you  that  way." 

"  All  right,  father.     I  accept  the  alternative." 

"Accept  the  what?" 

"  The  alternative." 

"  None  of  your  French  talk  to  me,  young  man. 
I  don't  want  none  of  your  frog-eatin'  lang- 
widge.  Put  it  in  plain  English." 

"  I  mean  that  I  accept  yonr  conditions.  I 
will  take  the  shilling,  and  will  not  tell  you  where 
I  went." 

"  You  won't,  hey !  Your  imperence  shall  cost 
you  fifty  thousand  dollars.  You  will  wish  you 
hadn't  turned  up  your  nose  at  the  goose  that 
lays  the  golden  aig.  You  '11  make  a  fine  lookin' 
porper,  with  your  soft  hands  and  hifalutin'  airs. 
I  wonder  if  Parson  Green's  church,  that  you 
take  such  a  shine  to,  will  tide  you  over  then? " 

"  I  '11  row  my  own  boat  against  both  wind  and 
tide,  if  it  be  necessary;  but  you  need  not  sneer 


Deacon   Wells.  3  5 

at  Parson  Green,  or  his  church.  It  would  be 
well  for  you  to  learn  something  of  pure  religion 
from  Parson  Green." 

"  He  can  learn  us  base  ball,  but  I  want  none 
of  his  expoundin'  of  Scripter  on  doctrinal  pints. 
If  you  and  your  mother  had  kept  away  from  his 
church,  you  'd  have  understood  more  about  what 
was  becomin'  for  a  deacon's  wife  and  son." 

"And  less  about  true  Christianity." 

"And,"  interrupted  Elijah,  "less  about  shay- 
rades,  and  that  game  of  cards  with  no  jacks 
in  it." 

James  left  the  room,  fearing  to  remain,  lest  he 
might  wound  his  mother  by  giving  free  utter 
ance  to  his  thoughts. 

"  There,  mother,  is  a  sample  of  your  Parson 
Green  Christians.  Stealin'  a  hoss  out  of  the 
barn,  and  refusin'  to  tell  his  dad  where  he  went, 
may  be  good  religion,  but  it  won't  go  down 
with  me." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  James  did  not  tell  his  father 
where  he  went  with  the  horse,  Elijah,  but  I  am 
equally  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  so  of  your 
brother." 

"  You  Ve    made    a    stuck-up    fool    of    him, 


36  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

mother,  with.  your  soft  words  and  high  eddi- 
cashun." 

"  Elijah  is  right,  Patience.  If  yon  'd  let  me 
trained  him  accordin'  to  Scripter,  and  sent  him 
to  our  church,  he  'd  been  a  different  kind  of  a 
bird's  aig." 

"  Yes,  mother,  he  's  nothing  but  a  crow's  aig 
now,  and  if  dad  'ad  had  the  train  in'  of  him  he  'd 
a  knowd  what  to  do  for  a  sick  hoss  by  this 
time." 

"To  be  shure  he  would,  Elijah;  and  he'd  a 
knowd  better  than  to  fool  away  fifty  thousand 
dollars  by  a  little  imperence;  but  it's  all  the 
better  for  you,  Elijah." 

"Well,  'twill  learn  him  better  than  to  talk 
French  to  you,  father,  and  I  guess  I  know  how 
to  take  care  of  the  money." 

"  So  you  do,  Elijah;  and  you  help  me  make  it, 
while  Jim  does  nothin'  but  spend  it." 

"  He  will  earn  money  when  he  masters  his 
profession.  Lawyer  Armstrong  says  he  pos 
sesses  legal  ability,  and  will  have  a  lucrative 
practice." 

"What's  a  'lucrative  practice,'  Patience?" 

"  Money-making  business." 


Deacon   Wells.  37 

"  And  what 's  a  '  legal  remedy,'  mother?  " 

"A  lawful  remedy;  but  why  do  you  ask?" 

"  I  heered  Jack  Blunt  tell  Jim  that  dad  gave 
him  and  Tom  Siddons  fifty  dollars  apiece  for 
apprisin'  the  Jones  place  for  so  much  less  than 
'twas  wuth;  and  he  told  Jim  there  was  no 
notice  served  on  Bessie  Jones,  and  asked  Jim 
what  Bessie  could  do  about  it,  and  Jim  told  him 
she  had  her  legal  remedy,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  that  were,  that  ?s  all." 

"  It 's  enough,  I  kalkerlate.  I  '11  make  Jack 
Blunt  smart  for  that.  He  's  a  ongrateful  dog  to 
take  my  money  and  then  blow  on  me.  I  '11  fix 
him  the  next  court.  I  've  got  a  morgidge  on  his 
house." 

"  Then  you  '11  have  the  fat  in  the  fire,  father. 
(It  was  one  of  Elijah's  peculiarities  to  address 
Deacon  Wells  as  '  father,'  and  speak  of  him  as 
4  dad.')  Better  let  me  cozzen  up  to  Bessie  Jones 
and  buy  her  intrust  for  a  new  dress;  then  you 
can  go  for  Jack  Blunt." 

uYour  hed's  mighty  level,  Elijah.  That's 
the  way  we  '11  do  it." 

"What  is  her  interest  worth?"  asked 
Patience. 


3  8  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"The  place  is  wuth  fifteen  thousand  dollars. 
I  bought  it  for  five  thousand,  and  made  a  cool 
ten  thousand  in  the  barg'in.  Her  half  would 
be  held  for  half  of  her  father's  debts,  and  that 
would  make  her  intrust  wuth  five  thousand 
dollars,  and  Elijah  is  sharp  enough  to  get  her  to 
sign  a  quit-claim  deed  for  a  five-dollar  dress. 
That 's  the  way  we  '11  work  it." 

"  It  may  be  '  sharp,'  but  will  it  be  right? " 

"In  course  it  will.  Isn't  it  right  for  a 
man  to  make  all  the  money  he  can  accordin'  to 
law?" 

"  I  cannot  see  how  a  transaction  so  unjust  can 
be  lawful." 

"Nobody  expects  you  to  '  see  it,'  mother. 
It 's  a  good  thing  for  us  that  wimmin  do  n't 
know  no  thin'  about  the  law." 

"  If  women  made  the  laws  they  would  not  be 
so  manifestly  unjust,  I  hope;  'though  the  fault 
may  be  less  in  the  law  than  in  the  loose  manner 
of  administering  it." 

"We  don't  want  to  hear  no  lectur'  about 
wimmin's  rights,  Patience.  You  're  allers  a 
harpin'  on  some  nonsense  or  other.  It  all 
comes  of  Parson  Green  lettin'  wimmin  speak 


Deacon   Wells.  39 

in  meetin'.     He  orter  know  better,  for  't  ain't 
Scripteral." 

"  I  have  never  spoken  at  any  of  the  meetings 
of  Parson  Green's  church." 

"You've  heered  other  wimmin  speak,  and 
that 's  jest  as  bad.  The  Bible  says  wimmin 
should  be  seen,  not  heered." 

"  You  find  many  very  strange  things  in  the 
Bible." 

"  In  course  I  do.  I  read  it.  If  you  'd  take 
the  Bible  for  your  guide,  as  a  deacon's  wife 
orter,  you  'd  know  somethin'  about  men's 
rights." 

"  My  Bible  does  not  teach  that  man  lias  the 
right  to  defraud  a  poor  orphan  of  her  patri 
mony." 

"Tour's  is  a  wimmin's  Bible,  mother." 

"  Our  conversashun  is  gittin'  scattered,  Pa 
tience.  I  want  to  know  if  you  know  where  Jim 
went  with  old  Charley;  and,  if  you  know,  be 
you  goin'  to  tell  me?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  presume  he  went  on  an 
errand  of  mercy.  He  was,  doubtless,  acting  as 
becometh  the  son  of  a  deacon." 

"Actin'    more  like   the   son  of  a  wimmin's 


4°  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

rights  fool,  I  kalkerlate.     There  is  preslms  little 
of  my  blood  in  his  veins." 

"  God  knows  I  hope  you  are  right,  father," 
said  James,  as  he  entered  the  room,  purple  with 
rage.  "  The  poisonous  fluid  would  blacken  my 
heart." 

"  James,  for  my  sake,  say  no  more,  and  leave 
the  room." 

"  I  must  speak,  mother!  You  shall  no  longer 
submit  to  their  tyranny." 

"  Shame  on  you,  Jim,  to  talk  that  way  to  your 
dad." 

"This  is  not  your  quarrel,  Elijah.  I  have 
been  an  unwilling  listener  to  your  conversation, 
and  I  have  a  right  to  speak.  I  will  not  be 
silent  and  let  you  abuse  mother  simply  because 
she  dares  to  plead  for  the  right.  I  heard  your 
damnable  plot  to  rob  Bessie  Jones  of  her  interest 
in  her  father's  place.  Such  villainy  will  not  go 
unpunished,  and  'though  our  laws  are  defective, 
they  are  strong  enough  to  compel  you  to  make 
restitution.  Justice  will  some  day  overtake  you, 
and  I  tremble  when  I  contemplate  the  result. 
Your  avarice  will  lead  you  to  a  felon's  cell,  and 
your  ill-gotten  wealth  will  not  unlock  its  door. 


Deacon   Wells.  41 

I  cannot  remain  beneath  this  roof  and  eat  bread 
that  has  been  stolen  from  the  widow  and  the 
orphan.  To-day  I  will  go  out  into  the  world, 
and,  by  honest  toil,  provide  an  humble  home. 
You  shall  go  with  me,  mother,  and  'though  you 
cannot  be  happy,  you  can  be  free  from  this 
cursed  tyranny.  You  shall  no  longer  be  the 
slave  of  criminals." 

"Nobody  don't  want  you  to  stay,  Jim. 
Elijah  and  me  can  run  the  place  better  with 
out  you.  You  're  a  little  mite  too  good  for  this 
world,  and  orter  be  replanted  among  the  angels, 
ortent  he,  Elijah?  " 

"Yes,  father,  he  orter  be  planted  somewhere; 
he  's  green  enough  to  sprout." 

"  Do  not  go  away,  James.  I  cannot  leave 
your  father,  and  I  cannot  live  without  you." 

"  I  must  go,  mother.  I  shall  feel  like  a  guilty 
wretch  if  I  remain.  Why  can  you  not  go  with 
me?" 

"  Because  I  promised  to  '  love,  honor  and 
obey'  your  father.  Marriage  is  a  solemn  rite, 
and  I  shall,  at  least,  obey  him." 

"  Your  marriage  has,  indeed,  been  '  solemn,' 
mother.  There  has  been  no  sunshine  in  your 


42  ^   Century  of  Gossip. 

life.  Yon  cannot  'love,'  because  yon  cannot 
'honor'  Deacon  Wells;  you  can  only  'obey,' 
and  in  your  case  obedience  is  a  crime." 

"  I  do  not  so  regard  it,  James.  My  promise 
is  binding." 

"  No  pledge  can  bind  yon,  body  and  soul,  to  a 
man  whom  you  cannot  respect.  Your  life  is  a 
lie,  mother,  and  your  marriage  is  void.  In  a 
matter  of  such  vital  importance,  every  woman 
is  a  law  unto  herself." 

"  That  is  mere  sophistry,  James.  I  recognize 
no  higher  marriage  law  than  the  statutes  of 
Maine." 

"There  is  a  'higher  law,'  mother;  a  law 
founded  upon  the  immutable  principle  of  justice 
and  right;  a  law  that  breaks  the  chains  of  the 
unwilling  captive;  a  law  that  recognizes  alike 
the  claims  of  husbands  and  wives;  a  law  that 
annuls  all  false  marriages  —  the  God-given  law 
of  love." 

"  Our  courts  do  not  regard  that  law,  James, 
and  the  world  knows  no  other  tribunal." 

"  The  world  will  honor  you  if  you  will  be  true 
to  yourself,  mother.  Go  with  me,  and  I  will 
make  you  comfortable." 


Deacon    Wells.  43 

"  I  do  not  consider  my  comfort." 

"Go,  if  you  want  to,  old  woman.  You've 
never  been  what  a  deacon's  wife  orter  be,  and 
I  'in  willin'.  My  doctrine  is  that  there  air  better 
fish  in  the  sea  than  has  ever  been  ketched,  and 
I've  got  a  silver  hook  to  ketch  'em  with;  eh, 
Elijah?" 

uYes;  but  don't  git  a  young  chub,  father. 
Old  fish  and  young  uns  don't  git  along  in 
double  harniss." 

"  It 's  the  young  uns  that 's  a  bo  therm'  of  you, 
Elijah,  you  sly  dog;  but  I'll  look  out  for  your 
intrust." 

"  Never  fear,  Elijah.     I  shall  not  go." 

"  Good  bye,  mother  dear.  You  will  not  for 
get  that  I  shall  have  a  home  for  you  very  soon, 
and  will  gladly  welcome  you." 

"  I  shall  not  forget,  my  dear  son.  The  God 
whom  you  serve  will  be  with  you  always,  -and 
He  shall  be  unto  you  more  than  father,  mother, 
or  brother.  May  His  choicest  blessings  rest  on 
you,  my  boy." 

James  left  home  with  a  heavy  heart,  regret 
ting  that  his  mother  would  not  go  with  him. 
After  his  departure,  she  was  subjected  to  many 


44  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

indignities,  and  the  days  were  all  dark  and 
dreary.  There  was  no  one  to  shield  the  defense 
less  wife  and  mother  from  the  cruel  thrusts  of  a 
tyrannical  husband  and  a  graceless  son.  She  no 
longer  attended  Parson  Green's  church.  Even 
this  crumb  of  comfort  was  denied  her,  and  she 
tamely  submitted.  If  the  Deacon  was  foiled  in 
his  attempt  to  rob  a  widow  or  an  orphan  —  he 
preyed  only  on  those  whom  he  thought  friend 
less  —  he  would  go  home  and  "  make  Patience 
smart  for  it " ;  and  the  son  vied  with  the  father 
in  heaping  abuse  upon  the  silent,  suffering 
woman.  God  is  just,  and  He  will,  in  His 
own  good  time,  avenge  the  wrongs  that  have 
burned  into  the  soul  of  Patience  Wells. 


CHAPTEE    III. 

BESSIE    JONES. 

SHALL  go,  Harry.  The  offer  is  five  dol 
lars  per  month  better  than  any  I  have 
received,  and  Elton  is  not  so  far  away." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  go  to  Elton,  Bessie. 
Deacon  Wells  lives  there;  and  Bob  Grant  says 
he  cheated  you  and  me  out  of  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

"  Upon  what  does  lie  base  his  conclusions? " 

"  He  says  the  mill  is  worth  ten  thousand  dol 
lars,  and  the  timber  land  five  thousand,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  farming  land,  which  I  admit  'is 
not  worth  much.  Deacon  Wells  bought  it  all 
for  five  thousand  dollars.  Bob  says,  if  he  were 
an  honest  man  he  would  pay  us  five  thousand 
dollars  each." 

"Robert  may  be  mistaken,  dear  brother. 
Deacon  Wells  is  prominent  in  his  church,  and 

if  he  were  dishonest,  that  would  not  be." 
(45) 


46  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Bob  says  his  church  believes  in  total  de 
pravity  and  infant  damnation,  and  he  is  good 
enough  for  a  deacon  in  such  a  church,  if  he  does 
cheat  widows  and  orphans." 

"  You  should  remember,  Harry,  that  Robert's 
warm  friendship  for  you  may  lead  him  into 
error  in  his  estimate  of  Deacon  Wells.  I 
know  the  old  home  place  is  worth  three  times 
the  amount  it  cost  him;  but  Esquire  Gray  says 
the  sale  was  in  strict  accordance  with  the  law, 
and  five  thousand  dollars  was  the  highest  bid." 

"It  was  legal  robbery,  sister,  and  your  fine 
reasoning  cannot  change  it.  Right  is  right,  and 
wrong  is  wrong.  The  proposition  is  too  plainly 
written  to  be  misunderstood.  The  line  between 
right  and  wrong  is  well  defined,  and  Deacon 
Wells  knows  that  he  is  a  thief  and  a  robber." 

"  That  is  strong  language,  Harry,  and  it  pains 
me  to  hear  you  use  it." 

"  It  is  plain  English,  Bessie,  and  'though  I  am 
sorry  to  grieve  you,  I  cannot  retract." 

"But  you  will  be  just?" 

"Aye,  when  justice  is  meted  out  to  you. 
Were  it  not  for  these  crippled  legs,  I  would  not 
care;  but  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  wear  your  life 


Bessie  Jones.  47 

out  in  teaching  a  village  school  when  a  comfort 
able  support  is  dishonestly  withheld." 

"  I  am  not  '  wearing  my  life  out,'  Harry. 
Look  at  my  full,  red  cheeks." 

"  The  result  of  a  month's  rest,  Bessie.  The 
roses  were  not  there  when  you  returned  from 
Glenville." 

u  The  effect  of  a  little  trouble  at  Glenville. 
The  committee  did  not  sustain  me  in  my  efforts 
to  govern  my  school.  It  may  never  occur 
again." 

ki  It  will  occur  again  and  again,  Bessie.  So 
long  as  school  committees  are  composed  of  men 
who  take  no  interest  in  educational  matters  — 
men  of  neither  natural  nor  acquired  ability  — 
will  your  '  little  trouble'  be  constantly  recurring. 
School  committees,  as  at  present  constituted,  are 
simply  a  delusion  and  a  snare.  Men  fear  to  do 
right,  lest  they  offend  an  influential  neighbor. 
There  is  a  world  of  truth  in  the  homely  adage, 
that  '  kissing  goes  by  favor,'  and  so  long  as 
there  is  an  appeal  to  a  committee,  schools  will 
be  governed  on  the  same  principle." 

"  Boy  like,  you  are  jumping  at  conclusions, 
Harry.  Some  committees  are  composed  of  highly 


48  A   Centiiry  of  Gossip. 

cultivated  gentlemen,  who  feel  a  deep  interest  in 
schools,  and  manifest  a  wise  discretion  in  their 
government." 

"They  are  simply  exceptions  to  the  general 
rule,  and  are  seldom  found  outside  of  books." 

"  I  have  found  them,  Harry,  and  I  am  not 
even  a  primer." 

"  You  are  a  dear,  kind  sister,  Bessie,  and  I  am 
a  wretched  burden  to  you.  I  sometimes  wish  I 
were  dead,  that  I  might  no  longer  be  the  recip 
ient  of  your  life-destroying  bounty." 

The  orphans  wept.  Bessie  wisely  concluded 
that  her  poor,  deformed  brother  would  find 
relief  in  tears,  and  it  was  but  natural  that  her's 
should  mingle. 

"  You  are  not  a  burden  to  me,  dear  brother. 
You  are  all  I  have  to  care  for,  and  my  life  would 
be  very,  very  lonely  without  you." 

"  If  I  could  only  work,  Bessie,  I  should  be 
content;  but  it  is  so  hard  to  sit  here  idle  and  eat 
the  bread  you  earn  by  incessant  toil." 

"  You  do  not  consider  how  much  you  help  me 
in  my  studies.  What  could  I  do  with  my  Greek 
were  it  not  for  my  clever  lexicon?  " 

"But  I  bring  no  bread  to  our  table,  Bessie." 


Bessie  Jones.  49 

"  You  bring  richer  food  for  my  soul,  Harry, 
and  help  me  beyond  your  power  to  calculate." 

"  I  help  eat  what  your  bounty  provides." 

"That  is  not  a  fair  statement.  Every  life 
must  have  its  compensations.  To  labor  for  you 
is  one  of  my  f  compensations,7  and  I  am  grateful 
for  the  privilege." 

"  Your  labor  is  drudgery,  Bessie." 

"  Far  from  it,  my  dear  sir.  I  know  no  field 
that  I  would  prefer.  Labor  is  a  duty,  and  I  can 
be  more  useful  as  a  teacher  than  in  any  other 
vocation." 

"  There  are  so  many  petty  annoyances  in  the 
life  of  a  school  teacher." 

"  There  are  '  petty  annoyances  '  in  everyone's 
life.  The  true  philosophy  is  to  rise  above  them. 
This  is  not  more  difficult  in  teaching  than  in  any 
other  occupation,  and  there  is  a  bright  side  to  a 
school  ma'am's  life.  Her  influence  over  her 
pupils  is  felt  when  they  go  out  into  the  world 
to  battle  for  a  prominent  place  upon  the  stage, 
and,  if  it  be  properly  directed,  she  has  her  sure 
reward." 

u  God  will  reward  you  for  your  self-sacrificing 
devotion,  dear  Bessie." 


5O  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Even  in  Elton?" 

"I  hope  so,  if  yon  must  go  there;  and  yet  1 
fear  His  spirit  will  not  dwell  so  near  the  home 
of  Deacon  Wells." 

"  I  must  go,  Harry." 

Bessie  went. 


"Where  shall  I  set  you  down,  Miss  Jones?" 

"At  Widow  Love's." 

"  There 's  where  you  're  wise.  She  's  the  best 
woman  on  this  route,  and  she  's  well  named,  for 
she  loves  everybody,  even  to  us  poor  stage- 
drivers.  Many  's  the  time  she 's  sot  up  'till  mid 
night  to  give  me  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  when  the 
thermometer  was  froze  up.  I  'm  not  much  of  a 
God-fearin'  man,  for  I  wa'n't  raised  that  way, 
but  if  there  is  a  Heaven,  Widow  Love  will  go 
there,  and  she'll  tiy  as  high  as  any  of  the 
angels,  if  she  does  weigh  two  hundred  and 
forty  pounds." 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  glad  to  learn  that  she  is 
kind-hearted." 

"  Kind-hearted  is  no  name  for  it,  Miss  Jones. 
She  's  kind  all  over,  from  the  top  of  her  jolly, 


Bessie  Jones.  51 

round  head  to  the  soles  of  her  little,  fat  feet. 
She'll  be  a  downright  mother  to  YOU,  and 
you  '11  cry  like  a  baby  when  you  go  'way  from 
there." 

Five- minutes'  drive  brought  them  to  the 
home  of  Widow  Love  —  a  neat  little  brown 
cottage,  with  a  sharp  roof  and  dormer  window. 
There  were  no  blinds  to  shut  out  the  sunlight, 
and  the  spotless,  white  curtains  told  Bessie  that 
within,  as  without,  everything  was  neat  and 
home-like. 

i;  Come  in,  dear,  and  have  a  cup  of  hot  tea 
and  a  doughnut.  You  must  be  thoroughly 
chilled  by  your  long  ride;  and  you,  too,  John. 
A  cup  of  tea  will  do  you  good." 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much,  Mis  Love;  but 
I  'm  jest  a  leetle  behind  time  to-day,  and  I 
guess  I  won't  stop.  I  must  go  into  Glenville 
on  time  or  bust  a  trace.'' 

"  All  right,  John.  Have  your  own  way,  and 
break  your  traces,  if  you  will.  There  's  no  such 
thing  as  making  a  stage-driver  mind." 

"  If  I  wasn't  behind  time,  I'd  mind  you  so 
quick  'twould  make  your  head  swim,  Mis 
Love." 


52  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

John  carried  Bessie's  trunk  to  the  "  best  bed 
room/'  mounted  the  box,  touched  up  his  leaders 
with  his  Dexter  whip,  and  the  Glenville  coach 
went  down  the  lull  at  a  break-neck  pace. 

"  Give  me  your  hat  and  shawl,  Miss  Jones, 
and  sit  down  to  your  tea.  Mine  is  an  humble 
home,  but  you  are  very  welcome,  and  I  hope  it 
will  seem  like  home  to  you." 

"  Your  kindness  makes  it  seem  like  home 
already,  Mrs.  Love." 

Widow  Love  did  not  reply.  She  gave  Bessie 
a  hearty,  motherly  kiss,  that  brought  tears  of 
gratitude  to  the  eyes  of  the  orphan;  a  kiss  that 
lingered  on  her  lips  and  warmed  her  heart  with 
joy;  a  kiss  that  came  to  her  in  dreams,  and 
whispered  "  All  is  well." 

Bessie's  school  was  much  like  other  village 
schools.  It  contained  the  usual  number  of 
bright  pupils,  as  well  as  the  dull  and  indolent. 
Two  faces,  only,  attracted  particular  attention 
when  she  entered  her  school-room.  One  was 
that  of  a  pale-faced,  bright-eyed  boy,  with  a 
mass  of  tangled  hair,  and  a  ragged  coat  and 
pants;  the  other  a  girl  of  sixteen,  writh  strongly- 
marked  features  and  a  thoughtful  expression. 


Bessie  Jones.  53 

Bessie  approached  the  boy  and  asked  him  his 
name. 

<;  It  used  to  be  Robbie  Bently,  but  it 's  Bagged 
Bob  now." 

"  Why  is  it  <  Eagged  Bob  '  now?  " 

"  Deacon  Wells  turned  us  out  of  our  home, 
and  I  am  only  a  bound  boy." 

Only  a  bound  boy!  There  is  a  volume  in  the 
sentence.  A  volume  that  tells  of  cold  indiffer 
ence,  or  cruel  neglect.  A  volume  that  reveals  a 
selfishness  that  should  make  men  blush  and 
angels  weep.  God  knows  the  anguish  of  the 
bound  boy's  heart,  but  His  children  are 
strangely,  sadly  ignorant,  or  cruelly  unmindful. 

During  recess,  Robbie  Bently  told  the  teacher 
how  Deacon  Wells  had  purchased  the  old  home 
stead  at  Sheriff's  sale,  and  turned  his  mother, 
brother,  and  four  sisters,  out  into  the  world. 
With  quivering  lip  and  trembling  voice  he  told 
of  his  mother's  struggles,  sickness,  and  death. 
Bessie's  heart  went  out  to  the  poor  orphan,  and 
she  could  but  condemn  the  man  whose  avarice 
had  caused  so  much  misery.  In  that  hour  was 
born  a  deep  sympathy  for  the  bound  boy,  that 
bore  rich  fruit  in  his  early  manhood.  The  sym- 


54  ^   Century  of  Gossip. 

pathy  of  a  true  woman  always  manifests  itself 
in  works;  and  Bessie  Jones  is   a  true  woman. 

The  girl  who  attracted  Bessie's  attention  was 
Nellie,  only  daughter  of  Jack  Blunt.  She  was 
modest,  intelligent,  and  fine  looking.  Her  fea 
tures  had  none  of  that  doll-baby  beauty,  that  so 
surely  indicates  the  absence  of  mental  power,  but 
they  were  marked  and  attractive.  Bessie  often 
observed  in  her  face  a  far-away  look,  that  told 
plainly  that  her  mind  was  not  on  her  books. 
Was  she  thinking  of  her  dead  mother,  whom  she 
remembered  as  a  patient,  suffering  woman?  or 
was  she  sorrowing  over  her  father's  misdeeds? 
Her  thoughts  are  sacred,  and  you  and  I,  kind 
reader,  will  not  attempt  to  lift  the  veil.  She 
knew  her  mother  had  grieved  over  the  evil  ways 
of  an  unworthy,  'though  fondly-loved,  husband 
until  her  tired  life  went  out.  She  knew  that 
her  father,  the  willing  tool  of  Deacon  Wells,  had 
cruelly  wronged  Bessie  Jones.  Did  she  err  in 
withholding  that  knowledge,  when  it  was  in  her 
power  to  right  the  wrong  the  orphan  girl  was 
suffering?  Was  it  her  duty  to  consign  her 
father  to  a  felon's  cell?  Put  yourself  in  her 
place,  and  answer  the  question. 


Bessie  Jones.  55 

"  You  Ve  had  a  caller,  Bessie." 

"Who  was  it,  Mrs.  Love?" 

"  Elijah  Wells." 

u  Why  did  he  not  come  to  the  school  house? " 

"  He  thought  YOU  would  be  home  to  dinner, 

V 

in  spite  of  the  storm." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  his  errand?  " 

u  No,  dear.  He  said  he  wanted  '  a  little  con- 
versashun  with  the  school  mum.'  He  may  be 
looking  for  a  wife.  He  's  old  enough  to  marry, 
and  if  he  can  find  a  girl  that  prefers  brass  to 
brains,  and  will  be  satisfied  with  a  gizzard, 
instead  of  a  heart,  I  should  advise  him  to  marry 
at  once." 

u  Then  Mr.  Wells  is  not  one  of  your 
favorites!" 

"Not  Elijah,  nor  the  Deacon;  but  James  is 
one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world.  He  is  a  law 
yer  and  a  Christian  —  a  rare  combination." 

"  Are  not  most  lawyers  Christians? " 

"  That  is  not  my  experience,  Bessie.  I  know 
so  many  of  them  that  practice  little  deceptions 
for  their  clients.  A  desire  to  succeed  in  their 
profession  too  often  induces  them  to  distort  facts 
and  defeat  the  ends  of  justice.  They  consider  it 


5 6  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

unprofessional  to  lie,  bnt  they  will  permit  a  Avit- 
ness  to  do  it  for  them.    There  was  Lawyer  Giles, 
of  Glenville,  who  tried  to  collect  a  note  my  hus 
band  paid  in  his  life-time.     He  admitted  to  me 
that  he  knew  his  client  was  swearing  falsely, 
and  when  I  asked  him  why  he  didn't  stop  him, 
he  said  it  would  have  been  unprofessional.     But 
for  James   "Wells'   cross-examination,   I   would 
have  had   to  pay  that  note,  and  my  little  home 
would  have  been  taken  from  me.     I  wish  you 
had   heard   James'    plea.     It   made   the  judge, 
jury,  and  all  the  spectators  weep,  and  the  jury 
rendered  a  verdict  without  leaving  their  seats." 
"  Then  you  consider  James  a  good  lawyer?" 
ilThe  best  in  the  State  of  Maine;  and  he's  a 
good  Christian,  too.    He  would  not  take  a  penny 
for  his  services,  and  he  worked  very  hard  to  save 
my  home.     I  made  him  a  dozen  fine  shirts,  and 
knit  him  ten  pairs  of  socks,  and  could  hardly 
induce  him  to  accept  even  that  small  fee." 

"  I  presume,  Mrs.  Love,  there  are  many  other 
Christian  gentlemen  in  the  profession.  Among 
my  acquaintances  are  several  excellent  men, 
honest,  liberal,  and  philanthropic,  who  are 
prominent  lawyers.  I  think  real  lawyers  are 


Bessie  Jones.  57 

truthful,  and  only  the  shams  do  the  pettifog 
ging-" 

"But  the  'shams'  are  largely  in  the  major 
ity —  like  the  quacks  in  the  medical  profession." 

"Pardon  me  for  differing  with  you  again, 
Mrs.  Love.  I  do  not  think  the  quacks  are  in 
the  majority  in  the  profession  of  medicine.  A 
quack  makes  more  noise  than  a  dozen  educated 
physicians,  and  this  noise  misleads  us  in  our 
comparison." 

"  I  hope  you  are  right,  Bessie.  You  have 
seen  more  of  the  world  and  read  more  than  I,  and 
your  opportunities  for  forming  a  correct  opinion 
have  been  better  than  mine." 

"  I  have  not  advanced  beyond  the  alphabet  in 
reading,  and  I  know  very  little  of  the  world." 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  the  sound  of  the  door-bell.  Mrs.  Love 
answered  the  summons,  admitted  and  intro 
duced  Elijah  Wells. 

"The  weather  is  sort  o'  coolish,  like,  Miss 
Jones." 

"Yes,  sir;  it  has  been  very  cold  to-day." 

"It's  good  weather  for  lumberin',  and  that's 
a  object  in  this  neck  o'  woods." 


58  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  I  presume  so." 
"  How  do  you  like  your  skule?  " 
"  I  cannot  tell.    I  have  been  teaching  only  one 
day." 

"  Yes,  mum;  but  a  body  finds  out  a  good  deal 
in  one  day,  'specially  in  Elton." 

"  I  like  your  people  very  much,  so  far  as  I 
know  them." 

"Yes,  Miss  Jones;  we  have  a  few  good  peo 
ple  here,  but  they  're  mostly  a  shiftless  set,  and 
they  do  n't  know  how  to  git  forehanded  in  the 
world." 

"  Perhaps  they  think  that  getting  money  is 
not  the  chief  end  of  life." 

"  If  it  is,  they  -11  never  see  the  chief  end,  Miss 
Jones,  for  they  don't  know  nothin'  about  gittin' 
money.  Sense  you  've  interduced  the  subject, 
I  '11  tell  you  what  I  've  come  for.  My  dad, 
Deacon  Wells,  bought  your  dad's  place  at 
Sheriff's  sale.  You  have  no  intrust  in  it 
whatsomever,  but  I've  brought  a  quit-claim 
deed  for  you  to  sign,  jest  to  make  the  title 
look  a  little  better  on  the  records.  If  you  '11 
sign  it,  I'll  give  you  a  five-dollar  dress;  that'll 
be  clear  gain." 


Bessie  Jones.  59 

"  If  I  have  no  interest  in  the  place,  why 
should  I  sign  your  deed?" 

'•Jest  as  I  said  afore;  to  make  it  look  a  little 
better  on  the  county  records;  and  you  make  a 
five-dollar  dress,  slick  and  clean." 

"  I  am  not  an  object  of  charity,  Mr.  Wells, 
and  if  I  have  nothing  to  convey,  I  shall  not 
accept  a  consideration  for  signing  the  deed.  I 
will  have  the  matter  examined  by  a  competent 
attorney,  and  if  it  be  true  that  I  have  no  interest 
in  the  old  homestead  I  will  cheerfully  sign  the 
deed  without  compensation,  and  you  can  give 
the  dress  to  some  one  who  needs  it  more  than 
I  do/' 

"All  right.  Let  'Squire  Gray  examine  the 
thing.  He's  good  enough  lawyer  to  look  up 
titles,  and  he  does  a  deal  of  it.  Tell  him 
I  '11  pay  the  shot." 

"  Thank  you.     I  will  pay  my  own  attorney." 

"Will  you  git  'Squire  Gray?" 

"  I  cannot  say;  I  shall  think  about  it." 

"  Good  night,  Miss  Jones.  I  '11  stick  to  your 
takin'  the  dress,  ir'  'Squire  Gray  does  say  you 
hain't  no  intrust  in  the  place,  which  he 
ondoubtedlv  will." 


60  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Wells." 

Kind-hearted  Mrs.  Love  could  with  difficulty 
restrain  her  joy  until  Elijah  departed. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  dearie,  you  are  not  penni 
less.  You  are  worth  five  thousand  dollars  this 
blessed  minute." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so?  " 

"Simply  because  Deacon  Wells  and  his  hope 
ful  son  are  not  around  giving  away  live-dollar 
dresses.  Depend  upon  it,  you  still  have  your 
interest  in  the  old  place,  and  this  is  one  of  his 
rascally  tricks  to  get  you  to  convey  it  for  a 
song." 

"  I  dare  not  hope  for  such  good  fortune,  Mrs. 
Love;  but  I  will  have  a  lawyer  look  into  the 
matter  for  me." 

"  Get  James  Wells.  He  will  do  it  well,  and 
he  will  be  very  moderate  in  his  charges." 

"  I  cannot  expect  a  son  to  conduct  a  case 
against  his  father;  and  I  have  never  met  Mr. 
Wells." 

"That  won't  make  a  mite  of  difference. 
They  say  he  left  home  because  he  was  dis 
gusted  with  his  father's  habit  of  cheating 
widows  and  orphans." 


Bessie  Jones.  61 

"  Even  if  lie  should  consent,  it  would  place 
him  in  an  extremely  embarrassing  position.  I 
cannot  ask  him  to  do  it.*' 

"  Maybe  you  are  right,  as  usual,  Bessie.  But 
don't  get  Esquire  Gray  to  attend  to  it.  Deacon 
Wells  will  have  him  doctored  before  to-morrow 
night/' 

"  Xo,  I  will  not  employ  Esquire  Gray,  'though 
I  have  considered  him  an  honest  man." 

11  When  you  see  a  man  hobnobbing  with  Dea 
con  Wells  as  much  as  Esquire  Gray  does,  he  will 
bear  watching.  '  Birds  of  a  feather,'  you  know; 
and  it  is  safe  to  judge  men  by  the  company  they 
keep." 

"  I  will  consult  lawyer  Ainsworth.  I  know 
he  is  honest  and  truthful." 


"  That  cock  won't  fight,  father.  Guess  Bessie 
Jones  has  lots  of  good  clothes  left  over.  She 
wouldn't  nibble  at  that  dress." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  She  kind  o"  turned  up  her  pink  and 
wite  nose,  and  said  she  wasn't  a  object  of 
charity." 


62  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Did  you  tell  her  she  had  no  intrust  what- 
somever  in  the  plac;  ? " 

"  Yes.  I  told  her  everything  you  told  me  to, 
and  a  lot  on  my  own  hook,  besides." 

"  Well,  what 's  to  be  done  about  it?  " 

"She's  goin'  to  see  a  lawyer,  and  I  recko- 
mended  'Squire  Gray." 

"That 's  right,  Elijah.  T  '11  go  and  see  'Squire 
Gray  to-morrer,  and  he  '11  counsel  her  to  sign 
the  deed." 

"Canyon  'fix  him'?" 

"He's  already  fixed.  He'll  do  anything  I 
want  him  to." 

"  S'posin'  Bessie  do  n't  go  to  'Squire  Gray?" 

"  I  've  tho't  it  all  over,  Elijah.  If  she  do  n't 
go  to  'Squire*  Gray,  you  must  kitten  up  to  her 
and  marry  her." 

"  Good  enough." 

A  week  after  the  foregoing  conversation,  Dea 
con  Wells  called  his  son : 

"  You  must  put  on  yer  go-to-meetin'-best  and 
go  down  to  see  Bessie  Jones  this  evenin'.  She 
didn't  go  to  'Squire  Gray." 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  I  put  Jack  Blunt  on  her  track.     Last  Satur- 


Bessie  Jones.  63 

day  she  went  to  Glenville,  and  was  in  Lawyer 
Ainsworth's  office  nearly  a  hour;  so  she's  got 
him,  and  the  fat 's  in  the  fire,  onless  you  marry 
the  gal;  and  it's  the  easiest  way  to  make  five 
thousand  dollars." 

"But  s'posin'  Bessie  should  object?" 
"  Tell  her  I  'm  wuth  a  cool  hundred  thousand 
dollars,    and    you    air    my    only    inheritanser. 
That  '11  fetch  her  quicker  'n  you  can   say   Jack 
Roberson." 
"So  'twill." 


"Good  evenin',  Miss  Jones.  Tho't  I'd  drop 
in  and  spend  the  evenin'  with  you,  if  you  're 
disengaged." 

"  Thank  you.  I  have  a  little  work  to  do,  but 
it  will  not  require  all  the  evening." 

"Teechin'  skule  is  sort  o'  workish  bizness, 
ain't  it?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  It  is  laborious,  but  it  has  its  com 
pensations." 

"Has  its  what?" 

"  Its  compensations." 
'Yes,  I  s'pose  so;  but  they  didn't  study  'em 


64  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

when  I  went  to  skule.  They  had  n't  got  that  fur 
along." 

"  What  were  your  principal  studies?  " 

"  Read  in',  ritin'  and  Vithmetick.  I  got  as 
fur  as  desolate  frackshuns  in  'rithrnetick." 

"  Then  you  did  not  get  into  algebra? " 

"No,  mum;  but  I  got  into  a  row  with  the 
master,  and  walloped  him  for  sayin'  my  edika- 
shun  wan't  complete." 

"  Did  you  not  whip  him  on  a  very  slight  pro 
vocation?  " 

"  I  did  n't  wallop  him  on  a  provokashun.  I 
took  him  on  the  skule-house  floor.  He  had  no 
bizness  to  say  my  edikashun  wan't  complete. 
Accordin'  to  my  idee,  readin',  ritin',  and  'rith- 
metick  is  enough  for  anybody.  The  fellers  that 
is  allers  hankerin'  after  the  higher  limbs  never 
make  any  money." 

"  But  the  higher  branches  are  taught  in  our 
common  schools,  now." 

"  In  our  uncommon  skules,  you  orter  say,  Miss 
Jones.  It 's  them  hifalutin'  things  that  makes 
our  taxes  so  steep." 

u  I  hope  you  do  not  object  to  paying  your 
school  tax,  Mr.  Wells?" 


Bessie  Jones.  65 

"  What 's  the  use  of  objectin1.  Taxes  is  taxes, 
and  they  has  to  be  paid,  but  the  men  who  want 
their  boys  to  know  it  all,  pay  preshus  little  taxes." 

"  You  are  familiar  with  the  tax  list,  are  you 
not?"  asked  Mrs.  Love. 

"  I  s'pose  you  mean  that  I  know  somethin' 
about  it?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  kalkerlate  I  do.  I  know  nearly  every 
man's  tax  in  the  town." 

"Who  is  the  heaviest  tax-payer?  " 

"  Deacon  Hezekiah  Wells  pays  the  most 
money,  but  he  ain't  as  heavy  as  Doctor  Smith 
by  nigh  onto  forty  pounds." 

"Then  the  Deacon  is  wealthy?" 

"No,  Mis  Love.  He  isn't  a  bit  stuck  up,  but 
he  's  well  heeled,  and  his  wallet  don't  look  like 
the  last  run  o'  shad." 

"  And  he  is  n't  very  particular  about  his  man 
ner  of  filling  it,  is  he? " 

"  Yes,  mum.  He 's  orful  partickeler.  He 
puts  the  hundreds  in  one  place,  the  fifty  s  in 
another,  the  twentys  in  another,  the  tens  in 
another,  and  the  fives  and  twos  and  ones  in 

his  little  wallet  by  their  selves." 
5 


66  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Does  lie  allow  you  a  liberal  supply  of  spend 
ing  money?" 

"I  don't  go  down  on  my  dad  for  spendin' 
money,  Mis  Love.  I  have  a  wallet  of  my  own, 
and  't  ain't  so  lean  as  a  sick  Loss,  nutlier.  I 
speckerlate  purty  considerble  on  my  own  hook. 
Last  week  I  bought  ten  yearling  and  a  clam 
privilege." 

"What  will  you  do  with  your  yearlings?" 

"Sell  'em  to  the  butcher  when  he  gits 
short." 

"  And  the  clam  privilege? " 

"  I  '11  lay  low  about  that  'till  some  feller  gits 
to  diggin'  clams  on  it,  and  if  he  do  n't  come 
down  with  somethin'  hansum,  I  '11  prosecute 
him  for  trespass." 

"Isn't  that  a  disreputable  way  of  making 
money,  Elijah?" 

"What  kind  of  a  way,  Mis  Love? " 

"A  bad  way." 

"  No,  I  guess  not.  1  can  make  it  faster  that 
way  than  choppin'  cord- wood,  or  peelin'  hem 
lock  bark,  and  I  allers  had  a  poor  appertite  for 
cuttin'  wood." 

"  You  cut  wood  for  your  mother,  do  n't  you? " 


Bessie  Jones.  67 

"I  cut  considerable  sense  Jim  left;  but  she 
burns  chips  a  most  of  the  time." 

u  Your  mother  is  a  dear,  good  woman,  Mr. 
Wells." 

"  Yes,  mum.  She  's  sort  o'  goodish.  She 's  a 
tip- top  cook  and  a  spankin'  good  butter- maker; 
but  she  keeps  sicli  a  hankeriri'  after  Jim  that  it 
spiles  her  for  a  mother.  Dad  wants  me  to  kitten 
up  to  some  good  gal  and  git  mar  rid  on  the  two- 
forty,  and  sense  I  think  of  it,  Miss  Jones,  you 
and  I  would  make  a  hull  team,  if  it 's  agreeable 
to  you?  " 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  change  my  condition." 

"  Bless  your  sweet  life,  you  needn't  change 
nothin'  but  your  name.  You  can  keep  right 
along  with  your  sknle,  and  be  earnin'  somethin' 
that  way,  if  you  want  to.  There  '11  be  no  need- 
cessity  for  you  to  work,  onless  you  want  to,  for 
dad  is  wuth  a  cool  hundred  thousand,  and  I  'in 
his  only  inheritanser." 

"  I  must  decline  the  honor,  Mr.  Wells.  I  do 
not  wish  to  marry  at  present." 

"  You  do  n't  want  to  git  marrid  ?  Well,  Miss 
Jones,  you  're  the  only  gal  in  Elton  that  sails  on 
that  tack,  and  you  do  n't  carry  sich  a  tarnashun 


68  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

site  of  canvas,  nuther.  The  sea  is  full  of  fust 
rate  fish,  and  I  've  got  a  gold  hook  to  ketch  'em 
with;  so,  good  evenin',  Miss  Jones." 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Wells." 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed,  Mrs.  Love 
indulged  in  a  hearty  laugh,  at  the  expense  of 
the  parsimonious  lover. 

"  Did  you  ever,  Bessie?  He  is  a  higger  fool 
than  I  supposed  him  to  be." 

"  You  must  be  charitable,  Mrs.  Love.  Per 
haps  he  inherited  his  peculiarities." 

"  So  he  did.  I  'm  glad  James  is  like  his 
mother." 


"The   jig's    up,  father,  and  you'll   have   to 
come  down  with  that  five-thousand-dollar  dust. 
Bessie  Jones  mittened  me  last  evenin'." 
"  Did  you  tell  her  what  I  was  wuth? " 
"  Yes,  sir;  and  I  told  her  I'd  git  it  all.    And 
I    told   her    I    had    a   wallet    of  my  own,    and 
understood  readin',   ritin',   and   'rithmetick.     I 
told  her  she  need  n't  work  a  lick,  onless  she  was 
a  mind  to.     I  tho't  I  'd  tell  her  that  ontil  we 
was  marrid,  you  know." 


Bessie  Jones.  69 

"  And  she  sacked  you  square? " 

"  That 's  jest  what  she  did." 

"She's  a  born  fool." 

"  Jess  so." 

"I  won't  'come  down  with  the  dust,'  Elijah. 
I  've  got  another  plan  in  my  head.  Five  thou 
sand  is  wuth  playin1  for,  and  I  '11  win.  The 
man  'at  plays  Hezekiah  Wells  for  a  fool  is  jest  a 
leetle  looney,  that 's  all." 

"Shure's  you're  born;  but  what's  your 
little  game,  father?" 

"  I  '11  not  show  my  hand  jest  yet,  Elijah." 

"  Be  shure  and  hold  the  four  aces  when  you 
come  to  a  show,  father." 

"I'll  have  a  hull  pack,  if  it 's  needful." 


CHAPTEK   IV. 


THE    GOSSIPS  AND   OTIIEES. 

OOEAH   for   Jim  Wells.     He's  got   the 

TT  nominashun,  and  I  '11  bait  a  last  year's 
bird's  nest  he'll  go  to  Congress!" 

"  Is  the  old  Deacon  very  angry? " 

"Angry?  He's  bilin'  over.  He  put  in  his 
oar  for  'Squire  Gray;  but  the  'Squire  can't  rep 
resent  this  deestrict.  He 's  too  milk-and-water- 
ish.  I  cum  purty  near  speakin'  right  in  meetin' 
and  tellin'  'em  that  Elton  wouldn't  pull  a  rope 
for  him,  if  he  got  the  nominashun." 

"Was  Jim  Wells  there?" 

"No;  he's  'tendin'  court  to  Augusta." 

"How  did  he  get  the  nomination?  Conven 
tions  do  not  usually  select  the  best  men." 

"  Why,  you  see,  the  other  feller  that 's  runnin' 
lives  at  Glenville,  and  the  candidate  must  come 

from   this   end   of    the    deestrict.      There    was 
(70) 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  71 

nobody  up  but  him  and  'Squire  Gray.  The 
old  Deacon  made  a  speech  agin  Jim,  and  said 
he  was  too  young  and  unexperienced  to  go  to 
Congress.  He  wan't  sharp  enough  to  see  that 
the  convenshun  was  made  up  of  us  young  fellers, 
and  his  speech  settled  the  hash  and  nominated 
Jim.  Of  course  it  ain't  nateral  for  young  fellers 
to  wait  'till  they  're  gray  before  they  can  go  to 
Congress;  and  the  'Squire  is  Gray  and  can't  go. 
Hoorah  for  Jim  Wells." 

"  I  hope  he  will  accept  the  nomination.  He 
would  make  his  mark  in  Congress." 

"Make  his  mark?  He  can  write  as  plain  a 
hand  as  any  man  in  Maine." 

"  I  mean  that  he  will  distinguish  himself." 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  he  '11  repeal  the  game  law. 
so  a  feller  can  git  a  little  deer  meat  after  the 
fust  of  January." 

"Exactly;  and  it  would  be  dear  meat  if  you 
should  hunt  'till  you  found  one." 

•' 'T  ain't  your  mix,  Zach  Brown.  But  I  did 
come  purty  near  killin'  one  last  winter." 

"How  near?" 

"  I  was  jest  gittin'  ready  to  fire  when'  he  see 
me  and  started.*' 


72  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  If  you  'd  fired  that  old  blunderbus  of  your's, 
Uncle  Jo  West  would  have  been  scouring  the 
country,  looking  for  a  lost  boy." 

"  That  's  so,  Zach.  ITis  old  gun  kicks  worse 
than  a  blue-nosed  mule." 

"  I  notice  you  're  all  glad  to  git  her  in  rabbit 
time." 

"  That  's  because  we  have  some  sympathy  for 
the  rabbits." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  Elijah  Wells,  who  was  not  popular 
with   the  boys  at  Elton,   and  did  not  feel  "  at 
home  "  in  the  shoe  shop.     He  came  on  business. 
"  Uncle  Henry,  I  want   you  to   measure  my 
foot  for  a  pair  of  boots.     I  want  'em  dirt  cheap, 
and  must  have  'em  right  off." 
"  All  right." 

"  Don't  make  'em,  Uncle  Henry." 
"Why  not?" 

"Your  lasts  are  all  too  small,  and  you  will 
have  to  make  'em  on  the  turn  of  the  road. 
There  's  a  fine  for  obstructing  the  highway." 

"  If  I  did  n't  pay  no  more  road  tax  than  you 
do,  Zacn  Brown,  I  wouldn't  say  much  about 
fines." 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  73 

u  What  I  do  pay  is  honestly  earned,  Lige.  I 
wish  I  could  say  as  much  for  you." 

"  You  can,  if  you  '11  stick  to  the  truth,  and  not 
lie  about  it." 

"  See  here,  Lige.  You  're  not  the  man  to  talk 
about  tellin'  the  truth.  If  I  owed  the  devil  a 
thousand  liars,  and  he  wouldn't  take  you  for 
the  debt,  I  'd  cheat  him  out  of  it." 

"You  ain't  sharp  enough  to  cheat  anybody, 
Zach." 

"  I  Jm  too  sharp  to  inquire  for  a  left-handed 
hoe,  Lige." 

"That's  one  of  Tom  Taylors  lies.  I  never 
done  it." 

"  But  you  did  try  to  deceive  a  poor  girl,  and 
you  tried  to  ruin  her  reputation." 

"  Some  gals  is  orfnl  easy  ruined,  Zach." 

u  Come,  come,  boys.  I  like  to  have  you  spend 
your  evenings  with  me,  but  you  must  not  quar 
rel,  or  slander  your  neighbors." 

"I  wouldn't  quarrel,  if  they'd  let  me  be, 
Uncle  Henry;  but  they  're  allers  a  pickin'  at  me, 
'cause  I  make  more  money  than  they  do." 

And  Elijah  left  the  shop,  slamming  the  door 
in  a  manner  which  clearly  indicated  his  anger. 


74  A   Centiiry  of  Gossip. 

"I   guess   Lige   is   half   right   about    Nellie 

Blunt." 

"Yes,  I  believe  he   is.     Blood  will  tell;  and 

Jack  Blunt  has  bad  blood  in  his  veins." 
"  She  climbs  trees  like  a  Tom  boy." 
"  And  goes  troutin'  in  short  dresses." 
"  And  combs  her  hair  high  up  on  her  forrid." 
"  She  puts  perfumery  on  her  handkercher." 
"  And  they  say  she  wears  corsits." 
"Wus  than  that;  she  danced  with  a  stranger 

from  the  West'ard  to  the  New  Year's  ball." 
The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  young 

man,  who  had  been  a  silent  listener,  taking  his 

departure. 

"  Who  is  that  young  feller,  Uncle  Henry  ? " 
"  I  do  n't  know.     He  came  in  before  the  rest 

of   you    to   leave   his    measure    for    a   pair  of 

slippers." 

"  He 's  a  smart-lookin'  chap." 

"  He 's  studyin'  for  a  preacher." 

"What  makes  you  think  so,  Sam?" 

"  I  see  him  git  some  books  from  Parson  Green 

to-day." 

"  And  I  see  him  come  out  of  Jack  Blunt's, 

this  afternoon." 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  75 

"  Did  you  notice  how  pale  lie  was  when  he 
left? " 

"  Yes.  There 's  too  much  terbacker  smoke  for 
him  in  here/' 

"  It  was  not  the  tobacco  smoke  that  made  him 
sick." 

"  How  do  you  know,  Zach." 

"  The  sickness  caused  by  tobacco  smoke  does 
not  pinch  one's  face  as  his  was  pinched.  It  is 
something  worse  than  that." 

Zach  Brown  was  right.  It  was  something 
worse  than  tobacco  smoke.  A  poisoned  arrow 
had  entered  the  young  man's  heart,  and  almost 
stilled  its  pulsations.  He  loved  Nellie  Blunt. 

"  It  could  n't  be  much  worse  than  this  ter 
backer  smoke,  Zach." 

"Perhaps  he  was  sorry  to  hear  an  innocent 
girl  slandered." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  is  innercent? " 

"  How  do  you  know  she  is  guilty?" 

"Appearances  is  agin  her;  and  then  she's 
Jack  Blunt's  daughter,  and  then  Jack  is  bad 
blood." 

"  Her  mother  was  an  honest,  intellectual, 
amiable  woman." 


7^  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  But  they  say  girls  takes  mostly  after  their 
fathers." 

"That   is   nonsense,    Sam.     I    believe   Nellie 

Blunt  is  an  honest  girl,  and  it  is  a  shame  for 

you    boys  to   blacken   her   character.      She  has 

nothing  in  the  world    but  her  good  name,  and 

if  you  rob  her  of  that,  she  will  be  poor  indeed." 

"  We  Ve  only  been  tellin'  what  we  Ve  heered." 

"You   never   heard   a    whisper    against    her 

character,  save  from    the   gossips    that   nightly 

assemble  in  this  shop." 

"  That 's  right,  Zach.     Give  'em  gowdy." 
<(  Their  conduct  is  shameful,  Uncle  Henry." 
"  So  it  is,  my  boy,  and   I  hope  you  '11  reform 


"  May  be  he 's  only  tryin'  to  cover   his  own 

tracks,  Uncle  Henry." 

"  That 's  a  cowardly  insinuation,  Sam  Smith." 

"  Tut,  tut,  boys.     No  quarreling/' 

During   the    momentary  lull    that    followed, 

Deacon  Wells  entered,  and  inquired  for  Elijah. 
"  Guess  he  went  up  to  Jack  Blunt's,  Deacon." 
"  What  does  he  want  with  Jack  Blunt? " 
"  I  kalkerlate  his  bizness  is  with  Nellie." 
"  Git  out   with  your  nonsense.     I  squelched 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  77 

that  more  '11  a  month  ago.  Elijah  can't  marry 
that  gal.  She  ain't  got  a  cent  in  the  world,  and 
she  wouldn't  be  no  fit  match  for  my  boy." 

"  You  're  right,  Deacon.  Elijah  can't  marry 
her." 

"  Now  you  're  talkin'  sense,  Ben.  It  would  be 
a  onsuitable  match." 

"Yes,  sir.     Too  much  lucifer  about  it." 

''That's  the  idee,  Ben." 

Arid  Deacon  Wells  went  home  and  told  his 
wife  that  he  "alters  thought  Ben  Love  was  a 
smart  boy." 

"Wonder  if  the  old  skin-flint  will  vote  for 
Jim  at  the  polls?" 

"  You  can  bait  your  sweet  life  he  won't,  Ben. 
He  's  never  forgive  him  for  ridin'  old  Charley 
down  to  Widow  Brown's,  and  givin'  her  the 
money  to  pay  her  taxes.  The  Deacon  had  his 
heart  sot  on  that  Durham  cow." 

"  If  it  had  n't  been  for  Jim  Wells,  Zach,  your 
Aunt  Elsie  would  have  lost  her  cow." 

"  No.  I  saved  up  the  money,  and  went  down 
the  same  morning  the  old  Deacon  went  to  levy 
on  the  cow ;  but  Jim  had  been  there  before  me. 
I  honor  him  for  his  kindness,  and  shall  support 


7$  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

him  cordially,  if  we  do  differ  in  our  political 
opinions.    We  need  honest  men  in  Congress." 

"  We  need  honest  men  everywhere,  Zach." 

"  That 's  true,  Uncle  Henry ;  but  we  especially 
need  them  in  Congress." 

"  You  '11  not  get  many  of  them  there  until  the 
people  quit  sending  the  politicians." 

"  Jim  Wells  is  not  a  politician." 

"No.  Jim  Wells  is  an  honest  man.  It's  a 
pity  to  spoil  such  a  man  by  sending  him  to 
Washington." 

"  Never  fear.     He  will  keep." 

"Why  can't  they  have  things  as  they  used  to? 
We  used  to  have  honest  men  in  office." 

"  Everything  has  changed.  You  do  n't  make 
boots  as  you  used  to." 

"  Yes  I  do.  I  use  nothing  but  hemlock  tan, 
and  I  do  my  crimping  by  £and.  I  don't  take 
kindly  to  these  new-fangled  ways." 

"  You  're  an  exception,  Uncle  Henry." 

"  I  wish  we  had  a  few  exceptions  in  office." 

"  Lawyer  Wells  will  be  an  '  exception  '." 

"  So  he  will,  if  he  gets  there.  The  district  is 
pretty  close,  and  the  Deacon's  opposition  may 
beat  him." 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  79 

"  Success  is  often  assured  by  the  opposition  of 
such  men  as  Deacon  Wells." 

"That's  true;  but  the  Deacon  has  some  influ 
ence  in  his  church.  They  do  n't  know  him  as 
well  as  we  do,  and  then  they  're  a  little  put  out 
with  Jim  for  goin'  to  hear  Parson  Green." 

"That  cuts  both  ways,  and  Parson  Green's 
church  is  the  largest." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that.  I  must  talk  to  the 
Parson  about  it." 

"  I  '11  guarantee  that  the  Parson  will  support 
him." 

"  I  do  n't  think  the  old  Deacon  has  such  a 
great  sight  of  influence  in  his  church,  Uncle 
Henry." 

"  Why  not,  Sam." 

"  'Cause,  father  belongs,  and  he  says  Deacon 
Wells  is  a  snide." 

"What's  a  snide?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  it  ain't  anything  good." 

"  How  do  you  know? " 

"  If  it  was,  father  would  n't  say  it  of  the  old 
Deacon.  He  yank'd  fifty  dollars  out  of  the  old 
man  on  a  hoss  trade,  and  there 's  no  love  atwixt 


-  8o  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Is  that  where  your  father  got  that  spavined 
alligator?" 

"  Yes.  He  give  the  old  Deacon  fifty  dollars 
to  swop,  and  come  home  orfal  tickled.  He  tho't 
he  'd  got  a  big  barg'in  in  that  hoss." 

"  It  is  n't  jest  right  for  members  of  the  same 
church  to  swop  hosses.  They  orter  take  in  out 
siders." 

"  There 's  where  Deacon  Wells  obeys  the 
Scripter.  If  a  stranger  comes  along,  he  *  takes 
him  in'." 

"  But  he  do  n't  stop  at  strangers.  He  takes  in 
his  own  church  members." 

"  Well,  the  old  fellow  will  find  his  match 
when  he  takes  a  twist  with  the  devil." 

"  Don't  be  too  shure  of  that,  Ben.  The  devil 
has  no  bizness  foolin'  with  Deacon  Wells.  He  'd 
have  a  rnorgidge  on  the  infernal  regions  afore 
he  'd  been  there  a  week." 

"That  won't  work,  Sam.  He  couldn't  find 
nothin'  to  write  it  on." 

"  Yes  he  could.  He  'd  take  a  sheet  of  brass 
from  his  face.  Then  he'd  hunt  up  'Squire  Gray 
and  have  it  foreclosed,  get  Jack  Blunt  and  Tom 
Siddons  to  appraise  h — 11  at  one-third  of  its 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  8 1 

value,  buy  it  in  at  Sheriff's  sale,  and  serve  a 
notice  on  the  devil  to  vacate." 

"  What  would  Elijah  be  doing  all  this  time, 
Zach?" 

"  Oh,  he  'd  be  juldng  'round,  stealing  the 
brimstone  to  s-tart  a  match  factory."  • 

"  S'posin'  the  old  hypocrite  should  git  to 
Heaven?" 

"  He  would  n't  stay  there.  Men  never  spend 
much  time  with  uncongenial  associates." 

u  What  would  he  do  with  the  infernal  regions, 
if  he  could  n't  find  Jack  Blunt  and  Tom  Siddons 
to  appraise  'em  for  him  ? " 

"  He  would  be  sure  to  find  them.  A  man 
can't  spend  his  life  in  the  service  of  the  devil, 
and  then  tack  ship  and  sail  into  Heaven." 

"  You  orter  have  been  a  preacher,  Zach." 

"There  is  plenty  of  material  here  to  work 
upon." 

u  The  harvist  is  ready  for  tl;e  sickle." 

"  Not  until  it  ripens." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinerwate  that  we  're 
green?" 

"  Not  exactly  green.  Sam;  but  a  man  that  will 

go  to  Tunk  Lake  to  fish  for  togues,  and  freeze 
6 


82  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

his  feet  on  the  ice  while  looking  for  holes  that 
were  cut  the  winter  before,  is  only  sun-baked." 

"  I  did  n't  freeze  my  feet.  I  only  frosted  one 
of  my  toes." 

"Was  there  any  frost  left,  Sam?" 

"  My  feet  ain't  so  orful  big,  Ben." 

"  No ;  but  they  tell  me  an  elephant  can't  pass 
them  without  blushing." 

"My  feet  ain't  no  thin'  compared  with  Lige 
Wellses." 

"  The  deficiency  in  his  head  is  made  up  in  his 
feet.  Tour's  ought  not  to  be  quite  so  large  as 
his." 

"  He  knows  how  to  make  money,  Ben." 

"  That  is  all  he  knows.  There  is  not  a  ten- 
year-old  boy  in  Elton  so  ignoront  as  he.  He 
went  to  school  but  a  few  months,  and  thought 
more  of  trading  jack-knives  than  getting  his  les 
sons.  All  the  father's  avarice,  and  some  of  his 
low  cunning,  has  been  transmitted  to  Elijah, 
while  he  has  inherited  none  of  his  mother's 
brains.  He  will  never  learn  anything,  except 
how  to  make  a  good  bargain  and  cheat  at  cards." 

"Did  he  inherit  his  fondness  for  cards  from 
the  Deacon?" 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  83 

"They  tell  me  the  Deacon  plays  a  rattling 
good  game  of  draw  poker  when  he  gets  away 
from  home.  Tom  Taylor  run  across  a  man  that 
had  a  little  set-to  with  the  old  hypocrite  at  Ban- 
gor.  Tom's  friend  was  betting  pretty  lively  on 
an  ace-full,  when  the  Deacon  coolly  took  four 
queens  from  his  coat  pocket  —  as  he  reached  for 
his  tobacco  —  and  raised  him  a  hundred." 

"Did  the  feller  call  him?'1 

"  !N"o.  He  raised  him  back  two  or  three  times, 
and  finally  called  him  and  lost  the  money." 

"How  did  he  know  the  Deacon  didn't  get 
his  hand  honestly?" 

"He  counted  the  deck,  and  found  it  short?" 

';  Why  didn't  he  make  a  fuss  about  it?" 

"  He  had  stolen  his  ace-full,  and  could  n't  do 
it  with  a  good  grace;  and  he  thought  he  could 
get  his  money  back  by  stealing  the  four  aces,  but 
the  Deacon  fought  shy,  and  he  could  n't  play  it 
on  him." 

"Did  Lige  learn  his  card-playin'  from  the 
Deacon?" 

"I  don't  know.  Jack  Blunt  says  they  play 
ten-cent  ante  in  the  barn  loft,  and  Elijah  rather 
beats  the  Deacon." 


84  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Why  do  n't  the  Deacon's  church  haul  him 
over  the  coals?" 

"  They  do  n't  know  it;  and  those  who  do  know 
about  it  do  n't  wan't  to  tell  and  be  hauled  up  as 
witnesses." 

"  That 's  the  way  it  goes,  now-a-days.  Ras 
cals  go  free  and  prey  upon  the  innocent,  simply 
because  honest  men  are  too  cowardly  to  prose 
cute  them." 

"  Why  do  n't  you  prosecute  him,  Uncle 
Henry?" 

"  I  have  n't  time." 

"  I  presume  that  other  honest  men  would  offer 
the  same  excuse.  The  truth  is,  men  who  attend 
to  their  own  business  have  but  little  time  to 
meddle  with  the  affairs  of  others." 

"  Nobody  here  has  n't  seen  the  old  feller  play 
cards,  except  Jack  Blunt  and  Lige,  and  they 
would  n't  appear  agin  him." 

"How  do  you  know,  Sam?  Jack  Blunt  is  a 
little  out  with  the  Deacon  just  now." 

"  I  do  n't  care  if  he  is.  The  Deacon  owns 
him,  and  he  darsent  tell  on  him." 

"What  is  Jack  out  with  the  Deacon  about?" 

"The  Deacon  promised  to   let  him  run  the 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  85 

mill  on  the  Jones  place,  and  backed  down  when 
Jack  got  ready  to  go." 

"  I  s'pose  he  would  n't  object  to  Jack  takin' 
double  toll,  but  lie  didn't  want  him  to  steal 
it  all." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  Jack  would 
steal  the  mill,  water  privilege  and  all." 

"Jack  says  the  school-marm  is  goin'  to  try  to 
git  her  part  of  the  concern  back." 

"  How  does  he  know  ( ' ' 

"  The  Deacon  sent  him  clear  to  Glenville  to 
watch  her,  the  other  day,  and  he  says  she  feed  a 
lawyer." 

"  I  hope  she  will  succeed.  It  was  a  rascally 
piece  of  business  throughout,  and  she  and  her 
brother  were  cheated  out  of  ten  thousand  dollars 
by  the  old  Deacon." 

"  And  Jack  Blunt  helped  to  do  it." 

"  Yes.  He  and  Tom  Siddons  were  the  ap 
praisers." 

"A  feller  could  take  a  quart  of  rum  and  pump 
it  all  out  of  Jack.  I  've  a  notion  to  do  it,  and 
tell  the  mistress." 

"  You  '11  have  to  take  more  'n  a  quart,  or  Jack 
won't  git  any." 


86  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Do  n't  worry  about  Jack  not  gittin'  his  share 
of  rum  when  there 's  any  'round." 

"  Deacon  Wells  brought  him  a  ten-gallon  kag 
when  he  come  from  Bangor,  and  it  did  n't  last 
him  a  fortni't." 

"  I  '11  bait  the  Deacon  put  in  four  gallons  of 
rum  and  eight  gallons  of  water.  lie  ain't  'round 
givin'  away  pure  rum." 

"  How  many  gallons  will  a  ten-gallon  keg 
hold,  Sam?" 

"Ten  gallons  of  rum,  and  twelve  or  thirteen 
gallons  of  water.  Water  ain't  so  strong,  you 
know." 

"  Guess  he 's  got  you  there,  Ben.  A  man  can 
hold  more  water  than  rum." 

"  Men  are  not  kegs,  'though  some  of  them  do 
hold  a  great  deal  of  rum." 

"How  do  these  old  guzzlers  git  their  rum, 
when  the  law  is  so  hard  agin  it?" 

"  Most  of  it  is  smuggled  over  from  the  Prov- 

OO 

inces.    They  say  Deacon  Wells  has  made  a  great 
deal  of  money  smuggling  rum." 

"  Is  there  any  deviltry  that  the  Deacon  ain't 
into?  Pie  plays  cards,  cheats  widows  and 
orphans,  and  smuggles  rum.  Seems  to  me 


The  Gossips  and  Otliers.  87 

that  orter  be  enough  for  a  deacon  in  good 
standin'." 

••  Wan't  the  Deacon  raised  in  the  Provinces? " 

"He  was  born  in  Xova  Scotia,  and  was  a 
hard  ticket  until  he  came  here  and  joined 
church.  " 

"  He  wan't  in  earnest  when  he  jined  church, 
was  he  Ben? " 

"  Xo.  It  was  only  a  blind,  to  conceal  his  real 
character." 

"  "Well,  I  never  knowed  afore  that  the  old  cuss 
was  a  reg'lar  blue-nose." 

"  You  knowed  he  had  an  orful  big  nose,  did  n't 
you,  Sam?" 

"Yes;  big  enough  fora  railroad  depo,  but  I 
didn't  know  'twas  blue." 

"  What  makes  'em  call  the  Xovey  Skoshians 
'blue-noses'?" 

"  'Cause  it  gits  so  cold  down  there  that  a 
man's  nose  gits  as  blue  as  an  indigo  bag." 

"  If  the  people  is  all  like  the  old  Deacon,  I 
should  n't  hanker  arter  'em." 

"How  is  it,  Ben;  you've  been  there?  " 

"  I  liked  the  Provincials  very  much,  Zach." 

"Are  they  very  stingy?  " 


88  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  On  tlie  contrary;  they  are  kind-hearted  and 
liberal." 

"They  say  they  are  agin  free  skules;  and  I 
do  n't  go  a  nine-pence  on  people  that  is  down  on 
free  skules." 

"  That 's  a  mistake,  Sam.  In  Nova  Scotia, 
where  the  free  school  system  was  introduced 
nine  or  ten  years  ago,  it  is  heartily  indorsed  and 
warmly  supported.  In  New  Brunswick  it  has 
met  with  some  opposition,  but  it  has  many 
friends  there,  and  the  opposition  is  dying 
out." 

"  Is  it  true  that  they  put  a  jack-knife  and  a 
pine  stick  beside  a  Yankee's  dinner  plate,  to  keep 
him  from  whittling  the  table?" 

"That's  another  mistake,  Zach.  They  don't 
whittle  as  much  as  we  do;  but  they  know  how 
to  treat  people  politely." 

"And  eat  dry  toast?" 

"  Yes ;  they  eat  a  great  deal  of  dry  toast.  It 
is  found  on  the  table  at  every  meal." 

"  I  should  think  they  'd  get  tired  of  it." 

"  Dry  toast  is  to  them  what  doughnuts  are  to 
us.  A  meal  is  not  complete  without  it." 

"  Why  do  they  eat  so  much  more  of  it  over 


The  Gossips  and  Others.  89 

the  line,  in  New  Brunswick,  than  we  do  in 
Maine?" 

"  That  is  easily  accounted  for.  The  Provincial 
Government  admits  our  low  grades  of  flour  free 
of  duty.  Much  of  the  bread  made  from  it  is 
sour,  and  is  not  fit  to  eat  until  it  is  toasted ;  so 
dry  toast  is  a  necessity  in  the  Provinces." 

"  Jim  Wells  cleared  that  little  blue-nose,  for 
stealin'  money  over  to  Sackarap,  didn't  he, 
Zach?" 

"  Yes.  The  little  fellow  was  not  guilty,  but 
the  Sackarapers  would  have  sworn  him  squarely 
into  the  State  prison  if  Jim  had  n't  picked  their 
evidence  to  pieces." 

"  None  of  them  law  lubbers  has  any  bizness 
foolin'  with  Jim  Wells.  He  kin  wallop  the  best 
of  'em." 

"  Jess  so.     He  's  sharper  'n  a  cambric  needle." 

"  They  say  he  didn't  charge  the  little  fellow  a 
nine-pence  for  clearin'  him." 

"No.  It  was  a  'labor  of  love'  with  him. 
The  boy  told  his  story,  and  Jim  believed  him 
innocent;  and  he  will  work  harder  to  save  a 
poor,  innocent  boy  from  unjust  punishment  than 
for  a  five  hundred  dollar  fee." 


9°  ^   Century  of  Gossip. 

"There  ain't  many  lawyers  will  do  it,  Ben." 
"  Bessie  Jones  says  there  are   as  many  good 
men  among  lawyers  as  in  any  of  the  professions." 
"  What  does  she  know  about  lawyers? " 
u  She  has  been  around  a  good  deal,  teaching 
school,  and  is  acquainted  with  a  great  many  law 
yers.     Her  knowledge  is  not  confined  to  teaching 
the  young  Eltonians  to  toe  the  mark  and  throw 
their  shoulders  back." 

"  You  bait.     She  knows  more  'n  anybody." 
"What  does  such  a  little  chit  as  you  know 
'bout  what  the  mistress  knows?" 

"  She  takes  as  much  pains  with  us  little  uns 
as  she  does  with  you  big  lubbers,  and  she  's  jest 
as  good  as  she  can  be.  When  I  cut  my  finger, 
this  mornin',  she  tied  it  up,  and  kissed  me,  and 
that 's  more  'n  she  'd  do  for  you." 

"  You  're  right,  Mountain  Jack.  He  'd  cut 
his  finger  to-morrow  morning,  if  he  thought  the 
teacher  would  tie  it  up  and  kiss  him." 

U0f  course  he  would ;  but  she  wouldn't  kiss 
a  great  big  mopsy  like  him." 

"  She  kissed  Eagged  Bob  the  other  day." 
"Well,  Eagged  Bob's  a  little,  pale-faced  boy,. 
not  much  bigger  'n  me." 


TJic  Gossips  and  Others.  91 

"  He  could  put  you  in  his  coat  pocket,  Jack. 
He  's  sixteen  years  old." 

••  Xo  he  couldn't.  His  coat  pocket  is  all  tore 
out.  I  give  him  an  apple,  this  noon,  and  it  went 
onto  the  ground,  and  Tom  Seely  grabbed  it,  and 
^Nellie  Blunt  made  him  give  it  up." 

"Yes;  and  Tom  writ  a  verse  on  the  black 
board  about  it." 

"  Can  you  repeat  it? " 

"  Nelly  Blunt  and  Ragged  Bob, 

What  a  team  they  make ; 
Bob  gives  Nell  his  chawin'  gum, 
And  Nell  gives  Bob  her  cake." 

"Yes.  But  the  teacher  made  Tom  ashamed, 
and  made  him  rub  it  out  before  all  the  scholars." 

"  He  would  n't  a  rubbed  it  out  if  he  wan't 
'fraid  of  a  lickin',  Jack." 

"Miss  Jones  is  too  good  to  lick  anybody. 
She's  the  best  mistress  I  ever  went  to." 

"  That 's  right,  Mountain  Jack.  Stand  up  for 
the  teacher." 

"  So  I  will,  Uncle  Henry,  'cause  she  sticks  up 
for  me." 

"Come,  boys,  it's  past  nine  o'clock,  and  I 
must  close  up." 


92  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

And  Uncle  Henry  went  home,  with  his  head 
filled  with  the  good  and  bad  things  he  had  heard 
in  the  shop.  One  thought,  however,  was  upper 
most  in  his  mind.  He  would  see  Parson  Green, 
and  talk  with  him  about  Jim  Wells. 


CHAPTEE   \  . 

JAMES    WELLS. 

S    chairman    of   the  special   committee,    I 

,  _  have  the  honor,  Mr.  Wells,  of  inform - 
~"  t  ing  you  that  YOU  have  received  the 
nomination  for  Congressman  of  this  District, 
and  begging  your  acceptance." 

"  While  I  am  not  unmindful  of  the  honor  the 
convention  has  conferred  upon  me,  my  time  is  so 
fully  occupied  by  iny  professional  duties  that  I 
cannot  canvass  the  District;  and  I  have  no 
desire  to  go  to  Congress.  You  know  I  am  not 
a  politician." 

"  That 's  why  you  were  nominated,  Mr.  Wells. 
We  are  tired  of  the  politicians,  and  want  to  try 
an  honest  man.  You  can  be  more  useful  in  Con 
gress  than  in  practicing  your  profession." 

"I  am  not  willing  to  admit  that;  and  if  I 
accept  the  nomination,  I  shall  have  to  take  the 

stump    and   make   a   thorough  canvass  of   the 
(93) 


94  ^   Century  of  Gossip. 

District.  This  I  cannot  do.  I  will  not  stoop 
to  the  disreputable  practices  that  are  considered 
essential  in  a  race  for  office." 

"  The  people  do  not  require  that.  You  can 
accept  the  nomination  and  discuss  party  issues 
at  the  various  county  towns  in  the  District?" 

"I  am  willing  to  do  that;  and  if  that  is  all 
the  party  will  require  at  my  hands,  I  will  accept 
the  nomination." 

"  All  right.     You  will  surely  be  elected." 
"  I  regard  my  election  as  one  of  the  possibili 
ties,  only.     The   District  is  very  close,  and  my 
opponent  is  an  old  politician;    but   defeat  will 
cause  few  regrets." 

"  You  '11  beat  him  badly,  Mr.  Wells." 
"  Or  accept  the  alternative,  and  be  beaten." 
It  is  not  necessary  to  give  the  details  of  the 
exciting  political  campaign  that  followed  the 
nomination  of  James  Wells.  He  entered  the 
canvass  reluctantly,  and  his  first  speech  was  not 
remarkable;  but  the  unjust  criticism  indulged  in 
by  the  press  of  the  opposite  party  aroused  him. 
He  discussed  political  questions  in  a  manner 
that  clearly  proved  his  familiarity  with  the  his 
tory  of  his  country.  He  swayed  the  masses  by 


James   Wells.  95 

his  eloquence,  and  was  triumphantly  elected. 
"Was  he  elated  by  his  success?"  As  well  ask: 
"  Is  lie  human?  " 


A  year  has  passed  since  Bessie  Jones  com 
menced  her  school  at  Elton.  Lawyer  Ainsworth 
is  "  making  haste  slowly,"  in  the  case  of  Bessie 
Jones  vs.  Hezekiah  Wells,  and  the  plaintiff  is 
teaching  the  winter  term,  in  the  old  red  school 
house  —  the  scene  of  Elijah  Wells'  pugilistic 
exploit.  Honest  John  "  sot  her  down "  at 
Widow  Love's,  on  his  last  trip,  and  her  old 
pupils  have  welcomed  her  with  a  warmth  that 
told  how  fondly  she  was  loved. 

"  Ben  tells  me  that  you  are  going  to  Berwick, 
to-morrow,  Mr.  Wells." 

fci  I  have  business  there,  and  shall  probably  go 
to-morrow  morning,  Mrs.  Love.  Can  I  do  any 
thing  for  you  there?" 

"Nothing  there;  but  I  wish  you  would  take 
Bessie  Jones  down  with  you.  Her  brother  is 
not  well,  and  she  is  worrying  about  him.  He 
lives  on  the  main  road,  about  half  way  between 
here  and  Berwick.  I  thought  you  could  take  her 


96  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

home,  and  call  for  her  on  the  way  as  you  came 
back." 

James  Wells  hesitated  a  moment.  He  knew 
how  cruelly  his  father  had  wronged  Bessie  Jones, 
and  he  felt  that  to  ask  her  to  ride  with  him 
would  place  both  in  an  embarrassing  position. 

u  Has  Miss  Jones  expressed  a  wish  to  go  with 
me?" 

"She  don't  know  you  are  going.  I  want  to 
bring  it  about  so  that  she  won't  know  it  was 
arranged  beforehand.  She 's  so  afraid  of  troub 
ling  anybody." 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  her,  and  she  may 
object  to  riding  with  me." 

"  She  knows  you  well  by  reputation,  and  if 
you  call  at  our  house  on  your  way,  and  let  me 
broach  the  subject,  she  will  think  it  just  hap 
pened  so,  and  I  know  she  will  be  delighted  to  go 
with  you." 

"  You  are  always  making  things  '  happen  '  for 
the  benefit  of  others,  Mrs.  Love.  I  will  call  in 
the  morning." 

"Thank  you." 

"  And  I  shall  enjoin  secrecy  in  regard  to  our 
plot." 


James   Wells.  97 

"All  right.     You  will  find  that  a  woman  can 

o 

keep  a  secret  as  well  as  a  Congressman." 

The  next  morning  the  jingle  of  sleigh-bells 
attracted  Bessie's  attention,  and  she  looked  out 
of  the  window  as  a  well-dressed  gentleman  drove 
a  span  of  beautiful  blacks  up  to  the  door/' 

"There  is  a  caller,  Mrs.  Love.'' 

"  I  declare!     It 's  James  Wells." 

Did  Bessie  Jones  want  to  meet  him?  That  is 
a  question  she  could  not  answer,  satisfactorily, 
herself.  His  name  was  a  household  word.  Mrs. 
Love  and  Ben  were  constantly  singing  his 
praises.  She  had  learned  to  regard  him  as  a 
hero,  and  her  admiration  was  little  less  than  rev 
erence.  But  what  would  he  think  of  her?  Did 
he  know  about  Elijah's  offer  of  marriage?  Had 
he  a  knowledge  of  her  suit  against  his  father? 
And,  knowing,  would  he  censure  her?  Before 
these  questions  were  answered  in  her  mind,  Mrs. 
Love  introduced  James  Wells.  Both  were 
slightly  embarrassed,  and  —  as  usual  with  well- 
bred  people  —  both  were  soon  at  ease.  Were 
their  first  impressions  favorable?  Time  will  tell. 
Mrs.  Love  watched  them  with  eager  interest, 

and  she  was  satisfied. 

7 


98  A    Century  of  Gossip, 

"Where  are  you  going,  this  morning,  Mr. 
Wells?" 

«  To  Berwick." 

"  Oh,  Bessie,  here 's  a  chance  for  yon  to  go 
and  see  Harry.  Mr.  Wells  passes  right  by  your 
door." 

"  He  may  not  desire  to  be  troubled  with  a 
passenger." 

"You  are  a  very  light  'trouble,'  Miss  Jones; 
and  I  have  a  good  team." 

"  Can  you  oblige  me  without  inconvenience  to 
yourself? " 

"  It  will  afford  me  pleasure  to  take  you." 

"  Thank  you.    I  will  be  ready  in  ten  minutes." 

Before  the  allotted  time  expired,  Bessie  Jones 
entered  the  sitting  room.  She  wore  a  blue 

O 

merino  dress,  a  brown  beaver  cloak,  jaunty  fur 
cap,  with  tippet  and  muff  to  match,  and  a  pair 
of  double-soled  morocco  boots.  In  short,  she 
was  dressed  as  a  sensible  woman  would  dress  for 
a  sleigh-ride  in  December.  A  single  glance  at 
her  graceful  form,  classical  features  and  spark 
ling,  hazel  eyes,  convinced  James  Wells  that  she 
was  beautiful,  and  he  inwardly  thanked  Mrs. 
Love  for  "  making  things  happen."  As  he  was 


James   Wells.  99 

wrapping  Bessie  in  the  warm,  fur  robes,  Mrs. 
Love  came  out  with  a  stick  of  birch  heated 
almost  to  burning. 

"  It  will  keep  hot  for  an  hour,  and  is  long 
enough  for  both  jour  feet." 

Simultaneously  they  thanked  Mrs.  Love  for 
her  thoughtful  care,  James  took  the  reins  and 
the  spirited  horses  started  off  in  a  gallop. 
Bessie  realized  that  they  were  going  at  a  fear 
ful  speed,  and  Mr.  "Wells  could  not  control 
them. 

"  Do  not  fear,  Miss  Jones.  I  will  keep  them 
in  the  road." 

"  I  am  not  afraid." 

"Should  it  be  necessary  for  you  to  jump,  I 
will  let  you  know.  Be  sure  to  jump  out 
behind." 

"  I  will." 

A  run  of  two  miles  brought  them  to  a  steep 
hill,  and  when  they  reached  the  top,  they  were 
easily  controlled.  James  wisely  applied  the 
whip,  and  galloped  them  another  mile. 

"Were  you  not  a  little  frightened,  Miss 
Jones?" 

"  I  hardly  think  I  was  frightened.     I  enjoyed 


ioo  A    Century  of  Gossip. 

the  bracing  air,  and  tlie  speed  was  exhila 
rating." 

"  Only  a  brave  girl  can  enjoy  a  runaway." 

"  Does  not  entire  freedom  from  responsibility 
make  one  brave?  You  are  driving,  and  I  am 
only  a  passenger." 

"  But  you  shared  the  danger." 

"After  your  instructions  about  jumping  out, 
I  had  no  fear." 

""We  are  all  right,  now." 

"Yes,  sir;  but  you  excited  my  curiosity  by 
whipping  the  horses  when  their  speed  was 
checked,  at  the  top  of  the  hill." 

"  This  is  their  first  attempt  to  run  with  me, 
and  I  do  n't  want  them  to  know  that  I  could  not 
control  them.  I  think  they  will  not  try  it  again." 

"  I  wish  I  could  manage  my  pupils  as  easily." 

"  The  young  Eltonians  are  not  so  easily  con 
trolled  as  my  horses.  Judging  from  reports 
about  your  school,  your  success  in  governing 
it  is  encouraging.  Some  of  your  pupils  —  like 
my  blacks  —  will  'take  the  bit  in  their  teeth,' 
occasionally,  but  you  very  wisely  make  them 
believe  they  are  governed." 

"  Those  who   do   not   recognize   parental   au~ 


James    Wells.  IOI 

thority  are  with  difficulty  governed  in  school, 
'though  nearly  all  my  pupils  are  studious  and 
obedient." 

"You  have  far  less  trouble  with  them  this 
winter  than  last?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  All  my  old  pupils  obey  me,  and  I 
find  their  influence  a  great  help  in  governing  the 
new  ones." 

"  After  all,  it  is  this  great  moral  power  that 
governs  the  world.  Arbitrary  laws  cannot  be 
enforced,  because  they  are  not  backed  by  public 
sentiment.  Even  wholesome  laws  are  not 
enforced  in  localities  where  public  sentiment 
has  been  wrongly  directed." 

'•  What  makes  public  sentiment,  Mr.  Wells?  " 

"Education.  Public  sentiment  is  cradled  in 
the  school-room.  In  places  like  Sackarap,  for 
instance,  a  healthy  public  sentiment  does  not 
exist,  because  the  people  are  very  ignorant." 

"  Do  you  not  sometimes  find  an  unhealthy 
public  sentiment  in  educated  communities?" 

"  Rarely.  It  is  true  that  educated  people  are 
occasionally  misled  by  designing  men;  but,  as  a 
rule,  they  think  for  themselves,  and  are  proof 
against  evil  influences." 


IO2  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Are  there  not  a  great  many  educated 
criminals?" 

"  I  think  not.  Many  criminals  possess  a  great 
deal  of  natural  shrewdness  and  low  cunning,  but 
they  are  not  educated.'' 

"  Yet  you  believe  that  many  ignorant  people 
are  good?" 

"  Certainly.  They  were  born  good,  and  were 
reared  by  honest  parents.  I  am  a  firm  believer 
in  hereditary  transmission,  Miss  Jones." 

"  Does  not  the  doctrine  of  hereditary  trans 
mission  apply  with  equal  force  to  criminals? " 

"Undoubtedly;  but  education  and  association 
with  educated  people  has  a  refining  and  elevating 
influence  over  them,  and  helps  them  to  overcome 
a  natural  propensity  to  do  wrong." 

"  Is  it  right  for  courts  of  justice  to  punish  a 
criminal  who  inherits  his  evil  propensities?" 

"  Courts  are  organized  for  the  protection  of 
the  innocent,  and  cannot  recognize  hereditary 
transmission." 

"  Do  they  always  protect  the  innocent? " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  do  not.  Judges  and 
juries  are  sometimes  tampered  with,  and  the 
ends  of  justice  subverted.  This  does  not  often 


James   Wells.  103 

occur;  yet  it  is  impossible  to  keep  the  ermine 
spotless.  What  do  you  imagine  will  be  the  fate 
of  the  hereditary  criminals  before  the  Highest 
Tribunal,  Miss  Jones?" 

"  I  think  that  an  All-wise  God  will  consider 
their  birth,  and  '  temper  His  justice  with  mercy.' 
I  cannot  believe  that  a  man  born  and  nurtured 
in  crime,  with  uncontrollable  propensities  to 
evil,  will  receive  no  more  consideration  than 
one  who,  born  of  honest  parents,  and  sur 
rounded  by  good  influences,  forgets  his  early 
training  and  becomes  a  criminal  in  obedience  to 
the  dictates  of  his  own  will." 

"  I  hope  you  are  right.  To  punish  them 
indiscriminately  would  not  accord  with  our 
ideas  of  justice." 

"Do  you  prosecute  many  criminals,  Mr. 
Wells?" 

"  No.  I  never  prosecute.  I  sometimes  defend 
men  charged  with  crime,  when  I  consider  them 
innocent." 

"  I  presume  innocent  persons  are  rarely 
charged  with  crime." 

"  Not  often.  Honest  men  do  not  associate 
with  criminals,  and  they  seldom  get  into 


IO4  si   Century  of  Gossip. 

trouble ;    but   they  are    sometimes    the  victims 
of  a   conspiracy." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  afford  you  pleasure 
to  defend  the  innocent." 

"  It  does;  especially  when  I  am  sure  that  they 
are  innocent  before  I  undertake  the  defense.  I 
am  sometimes  in  doubt,  and  cannot  work  with  a 
will." 

"  Do  you  consider  it  unprofessional  to  defend 
a  guilty  man?" 

"It  is  not  unprofessional;  yet  it  is  better  that 
an  attorney  should  believe  his  client  innocent,  if 
possible." 

They  rode  on  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes, 
when  Bessie  pointed  out  a  neat  little  cottage  by 
the  roadside. 

"There  is  where  we  live." 

"  Does  your  brother  live  alone  when  you  are 
teaching? " 

"No,  sir.  Mrs.  Deford  lives  in  the  house 
with  us.  She  is  very  kind  to  Harry  when  I  'in 
away." 

"Mrs.  Henry  Deford?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  She  is  a  rough  diamond.    She  used  to  live  in 


James   Wells.  105 

Elton,  and  I  remember  her  kindness  to  me  when 
1  was  a  little  boy." 

"  You  will  come  in  and  see  your  old  friend?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Jones.  And  I  want  to  meet  your 
brother,  and  learn  his  condition." 

Bessie  conducted  Mr.  Wells  to  her  brother's 
room  and  introduced  him.  Harry  was  reserved, 
but  he  could  not  help  admiring  the  fine-looking 
Congressman.  Bessie  had  told  her  brother  a 
great  deal  about  James,  gleaned  from  her  con 
versations  with  Mrs.  Love,  and  had  thus 
disarmed  much  of  his  prejudice  against  the 
son  of  Deacon  Wells.  He  knew  that  James 
left  home  because  he  could  not  indorse  his 
father's  evil  ways,  and  he  knew  of  his  many 
acts  of  kindness;  yet  he  looked  upon  Bessie's 
suit  against  the  Deacon  as  a  family  quarrel,  and 
he  was  slightly  embarrassed  when  Bessie  intro 
duced  him. 

"  Are  you  better,  Harry? " 

"  Much  better,  sister,  'though  I  have  not  been 
really  sick." 

'•Sick  enough  to  want  me,  weren't  you?" 

"I  want  you  always,  Bessie;  but  I  told  John 
to  tell  you  not  to  worry." 


io6  A    Century  of  Gossip. 

"He  delivered  your  message;  jet  I  learned 
from  him  that  you  looked  paler  than  usual,  and 
was  suffering  from  the  pain  in  your  leer." 

"The  pain  has  left  me,  Bessie;  and  while  I 
am  glad  to  see  you,  I  'm  almost  sorry  you  came." 

u  We  will  differ  on  that  point,  Mr.  Jones.  I 
am  not  sorry  she  came." 

"  I  have  enjoyed  the  ride  very  much,  and  am 
going  to  enjoy  my  visit.'7 

"  Thank  you.  But  I  do  n't  want  you  to  enjoy 
too  much.  If  your  brother  will  let  me  have  my 
way,  I  will  take  him  to  Berwick,  and  have  him 
back  in  two  hours.  I  will  then  go  to  Melton, 
get  through  with  my  business,  and  call  for  you 
about  six  o'clock.  This  arrangement  will  give 
you  half  the  day  with  your  brother,  and  I  am 
sure  this  bracing  air  will  benefit  him." 

Harry  hesitated.  A  glance  at  Bessie's  face 
told  him  plainly  that  she  wanted  him  to  go,  and 
he  accepted  the  invitation. 

"  While  you  are  getting  ready,  I  will  step  in 
and  see  Mrs.  Deford." 


"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Deford." 


James    Wells.  107 

"  Well,  I  declare!  You  've  got  the  disadvant 
age  of  me.  I  believe  I  don't  know  you." 

"  Do  n't  you  remember  the  boy  that  helped 
Isaac  shear  your  gray  sheep?" 

James  showed  the  scar  on  his  wrist  that  the 
kind-hearted  old  woman  had  tied  up  twenty 
years  ago. 

"  I  declare  to  grashus !  Be  you  little  Jimmy 
Wells?" 

"Jimmy  Wells,  but  no  longer  '  little.'  I 
weigh  a  hundred  and  eighty  pounds." 

"  Who  'd  a  thought  you  'd  been  a  great  big 
boy  so  soon? " 

"  That  was  twenty  years  ago,  Mrs.  Deford." 

"  So  't  was ;  and  that  gash  you  got  with  the 
sheep  shears  still  sticks  by  you? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  I  keep  it  to  remember  you 
and  Isaac  by." 

"  What  a  time  you  and  Ike  did  have  shearin' 
that  old  gray  sheep,  to  be  shure." 

"  That  old  gray  sheep  was  a  tough  customer, 
Aunty." 

"  So  he  was..  I  biled  one  of  his  hind  quarters 
a  hull  day,  and  then  't  was  so  tough  I  had  to 
bake  it.  Ike  sold  the  fore  quarters,  and  give  the 


io8  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

other  liind  quarter  to  our  minister.  Ike  and  the 
minister  was  allers  havin'  tilts  with  each  other, 
you  know.  A  wile  after'ards,  Ike  asked  the 
minister  how  he  liked  his  lamb,  and  the  min 
ister  told  him  it  was  tender  compared  to  the 
heart  of  a  man  that  would  kill  a  old,  gray- 
headed  sheep,  sell  the  pelt,  and  give  the  sole 
leather  to  the  minister.  He  asked  Ike  why  he 
didn't  keep  the  mutton,  and  have  his  boots  half- 
soled  with  it.  Ike  told  him  he  had  whole-sold 
a  minister,  and  that  was  better  'n  half-solin'  his 
boots.  And  so  they  had  it;  but  the  minister 
was  jest  as  good  as  he  could  be,  if  he  wan't 
sharp  enough  for  Ike." 

"Yes,  Aunty;  Elder  Cole  was  a  good  man." 
"  So  he  was.  He  was  always  sound  in  doctriu' 
if  he  wan't  so  very  flowery;  and  I  knit  him  a 
pair  of  good,  warm  stockins  out  of  that  gray 
wool,  and  run  'em,  heel  and  toe;  and  don't  you 
think,  I  've  got  stockins  in  the  house,  this  minit, 
that  was  knit  from  that  identical  sheep,  and  a 
ball  of  yarn  besides,  and  if  ever  you  git  marrid 
I  '11  knit  your  fust  baby  a  pair  of  stockins  with 
it.  Maybe  I  can't  size  'em  jest  right,  for  its  a 
long  time  sense  I  've  knit  a  stockin'  for  a  baby; 


James   Wells.  109 

but  I  '11  make  'em  big  enough  so  it  can  grow 
to  'em." 

"  Thank  you.  I  think  I  shall  not  need  them 
for  several  years." 

"They  say  you've  gone  to  Congress,  and 
maybe  you  '11  find  somebody  there  that  '11  take 
your  eye." 

"  I  was  elected  last  fall,  but  1  've  not  been  to 
Washington  yet.  I  shall  probably  go  next 
week." 

"  I  allers  felt  that  you  'd  be  one  of  the  elect. 
Don't  let  them  high-steppin'  chaps  spile  you, 
Jimmy.  They  say  they  're  a  bad  set." 

"  I  '11  look  out  for  them,  Aunty.     Good  bye." 

"Good  bye,  Jimmy.  Kemember,  I'm  goin' 
to  knit  them  stockins  for  your  fust  baby." 

"  I  will  remember." 


James  carefully  tucked  the  warm  robes  about 
Harry's  feet,  bade  Bessie  good  bye,  and  started 
for  Berwick.  The  blacks  did  not  attempt  to  run, 
and  Bessie  was  relieved  from  her  anxiety  as  they 
started  off  in  a  gentle  trot,  She  knew  that 
Harry  could  not  "jump  out  behind." 


TI°  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

Under  the  exhilarating  influence  of  the  brac 
ing  air  arid  pleasant  ride,  Harry  was  happy 
and  communicative.  James  soon  discovered 
that  his  mind  was  stored  with  useful  knowl 
edge,  and  he  was  surprised  to  learn  how  much 
he  knew  of  the  great  world  in  which  he  mingled 
so  little.  They  discussed  politics,  theology,  and 
metaphysics.  On  these  subjects  Harry  evinced 
a  thorough  knowledge,  the  result  of  careful 
research  and  deep  thought.  James  was  de 
lighted.  He  directed  the  conversation  from 
one  subject  to  another  with  a  nice  discern 
ment,  that  would  have  done  credit  to  an 
accomplished  diplomat,  and  was  pleased  to 
learn  that  Bessie  and  Harry  were  familiar  with 
the  French,  German,  Latin,  and  Greek  lan 
guages. 

"  How  does  Bessie  find  time  to  prosecute  her 
studies  and  teach  school?" 

"She  studies  very  hard  during  her  three- 
months'  vacation,  and  devotes  a  portion  of  her 
evenings  to  the  languages  while  teaching." 

"  That  is  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  under  diffi 
culties." 

"  Yes,  sir.     '  Greek  Without  a  Master >  will  do 


James   Wells.  1 1 1 

to  talk  about,  but  it  is  difficult  to  master  Greek, 
'though  Bessie  will  do  it.  She  is  very  anxious 
to  become  proficient  in  the  languages." 

"  Is  she  studying  with  a  view  to  teaching  the 
languages? " 

u  Yes,  sir.  She  thinks  that  teaching  will  be 
ner  life-work." 

"  It  is  a  hard  life,  Harry." 

"So  it  is;  but  Bessie  says  it  has  its  compen 
sations." 

That  moment  James  Wells  resolved  that,  if  he 
could  prevent  it,  Bessie  Jones  should  not  wear  her 
life  out  in  teaching  Latin  and  Greek.  Visions 
of  a  select  school,  with  a  limited  number  of 
pupils,  floated  through  his  mind,  and  he  fondly 
hoped  that  he  might  need  "them  stockins" 
before  many  years  rolled  around. 

He  was  detained  but  a  short  time  in  Berwick, 
and  he  landed  Harry  at  his  home  before  twelve. 
A  happy  party  partook  of  the  meal  that  Bessie 
had  prepared.  The  ride  sharpened  their  appe 
tites,  and  the  viands,  prepared  with  skill  and 
spiced  by  interesting  conversation,  disappeared 
with  a  rapidity  that  would  have  gladdened  the 
heart  of  an  experienced  cook.  At  half  past  one 


I I 2  y4   Century  of  Gossip. 

o'clock  James  started  for  Melton.  His  business 
was  soon  disposed  of,  but  he  did  not  wish  to 
return  at  once.  The  moon  would  shine  in  the 
evening,  and  by  starting  from  Melton  at  five 
o'clock  he  would  reach  Mrs.  Love's  before  nine. 
This  would  give  the  orphans  another  hour 
together,  and  he  felt  that  every  moment  was 
precious  to  them.  He  strolled  into  a  book  store 
and  whiled  away  the  hour  in  examining  the 
latest  publications.  Selecting  three  —  one  for 
himself,  and  one  each  for  Bessie  and  Harry  — 
he  started  for  home,  anticipating  a  pleasant  talk 
with  Bessie.  When  he  reached  her,  he  learned 
that  she  and  Harry  were  waiting  for  him  to  sup 
with  them,  and  he  gladly  accepted  the  cordial 
invitation.  After  supper  he  presented  the  books, 
which  were  thankfully  received.  This  led  to  a 
discussion  of  the  merits  of  prominent  authors, 
and  all  were  unmindful  of  the  flight  of  time 
until  the  clock  struck  nine.  James  was  surprised 
at  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  was  about  to 
apologize,  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  an 
apology  was  not  required.  He  suggested  that 
Mrs.  Love  would  grow  weary  of  waiting  for 
them,  and  proposed  to  start  at  once.  Harry 


James   Wells.  113 

urged  them  to  stay,  James  regretted  that  they 
could  not  remain,  and  Bessie  was  silent,  feeling 
that  she  was  "  only  a  passenger." 

As  James  and  Bessie  bade  Harry  good  night, 
Mrs.  Deford  came  to  the  door: 

"  Do  n't  forgit  to  let  me  know  when  you  want 
them  baby  stockins,  Jimmy." 

"I  will  not  forget,  Mrs.  Deford.     Good  bye." 

"  Good  bye.  And  keep  your  eyes  peeled  for 
them  high-steppers  in  Congress.  The  papers 
say  they  're  an  ungodly  set,  and  do  nothin' 
but  eat  biled  oysters  and  drink  shampain. 
Don't  let  'em  spile  you,  Jimmy." 

"  I  '11  give  them  a  wide  berth,  Aunty." 

"  Jess  so.  Let  'em  sleep  on  the  floor,  if  they 
will.  It's  good  enough  for  'em." 

"Mrs.  Deford's  opinion  of  Congressmen  is 
not  nattering,  Mr.  Wells." 

"  No,  ma'am;  but  it  may  not  be  incorrect." 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  them  better  than  her 
picture." 

"  I  trust  they  are  not  much  worse  than  other 
men;  yet,  judging  from  reports,  they  spend  too 
much  time  at  the  festive  board.  I  have  not  an 

exalted  opinion  of  Washington  society,  'though 

8 


114  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

there  are,  doubtless,  many  good  men  in  Con 
gress." 

"When  do  you  go?" 

"  The  last  of  next  week." 

"So  soon?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  I  want  to  reach  Washington 
two  or  three  days  before  the  opening." 

Why  did  Bessie  say  "  So  soon  ?  "  Why  should 
the  time  of  Mr.  Wells'  departure  interest  her? 
Did  she  already  love  the  man  whom  she  had, 
that  morning,  almost  feared  to  meet? 

"  How  long  will  you  remain?  " 

"  Until  next  summer." 

"Will  -it  not  interfere  with  your  professional 
duties?" 

"Somewhat;  but  I  regret,  more  than  all,  that 
I  cannot  visit  Augusta,  this  winter,  in  the  inter 
est  of  the  Educational  bill." 

"  I  hope  that  bill  will  be  adopted  by  the  Leg 
islature.  It  will  reform  our  present  system ;  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  an  important  feature 
omitted." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Uniformity  in  our  text  books." 

"Is  it  practicable?" 


James    Wells.  115 

"  I  think  so.  At  present  too  much  is  left  to 
the  discretion  of  the  teacher.  It  is  not  uncom 
mon  to  find  pupils  well  advanced  in  algebra  and 
totally  ignorant  of  grammar  and  rhetoric,  while 
in  many  schools  physiology  is  not  even  intro 
duced/' 

u  You  are  right,  Miss  Jones,  and  I  thank  you 
for  the  suggestion.  I  shall  write  to  the  chair 
man  of  the  committee,  and  will  endeavor  to  have 
your  idea  ingrafted  in  the  bill.  New  England 
educators  have  an  inherent  fondness  for  mathe 
matics,  and  many  of  them  lose  sight  of  other 
important  branches,  in  their  anxiety  to  make 
their  pupils  proficient  in  algebra." 

"  I  do  n't  think  the  inborn  veneration  for 
mathematics  is  confined  to  New  England  edu 
cators,  Mr.  Wells.  It  exists  in  the  West  and 
South." 

"Many  of  the  educators  in  the  West  and 
South  are  Yankees,  Miss  Jones." 

"  True ;  but  in  the  West,  especially,  many  of 
the  teachers  are  natives,  and  they  still  cling  to 
mathematics  with,  all  the  tenacity  of  a  New 
England  pedagogue." 

"It  is  not  taught  in  the  West,  as  in  New 


1 1 6  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

England,  at  the  expense  of  many  other  useful 
branches." 

"  Not  to  the  same  extent,  perhaps;  but  it  is 
permitted  to  encroach  upon  important  studies  in 
the  West,  as  elsewhere.  "While  it  should  not  be 
neglected,  it  is  certainly  unwise  to  require  a 
pupil  to  spend  three-fourths  of  the  time  devoted 
to  study  in  attempting  to  master  mathematics." 

"  What,  in  your  opinion,  is  the  most  impor 
tant  study,  Miss  Jones? " 

"  I  should  hesitate  in  giving  precedence  to  any 
particular  branch,  Mr.  Wells;  but  I  think  that 
if  time  spent  in  working  out  the  difficult  and 
impractical  problems  of  higher  mathematics, 
and  locating  obscure  rivers  in  Asia,  were  de 
voted  to  grammar,  rhetoric,  physiology,  and  the 
science  of  government,  it  would  be  infinitely 
better  for  the  pupil." 

"  Does  not  a  thorough  knowledge  of  mathe 
matics  make  a  good  foundation  for  an  education  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  as  taught  under  our  system,  it 
is  much  like  preparing  a  granite  foundation  for 
a  cob  house." 

"With  woman's  tact,  you  have  settled  the 
question  by  comparison." 


James   Wells. 

"  Women  do  not  think  as  inucli  as  men,  and 
are  apt  to  reason  by  comparison." 

"You  have,  evidently,  thought  much  about 
education/' 

"Because  it  is  my  business.  While  my 
thoughts  are  circumscribed,  yours  are  not  con 
fined  to  the  law." 

"The  wide  range  of  our  discussion  to-day 
proves  that  your  thoughts  are  not  circum 
scribed." 

••You  forget  that  my  part  of  the  discussion 
was  confined  to  asking  questions." 

"  By  no  means.  You  have  taught  me  several 
important  lessons." 

"  Then  you  are  my  first  advanced  pupil.  Seri 
ously,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  women  are  not 
bold  thinkers.  Men  originate  and  women  copy. 
We  rarely  invent  anything,  and  seldom  succeed 
in  a  field  that  requires  deep  thought  and  origi 
nality,  while  as  copyists  we  can  successfully 
contest  the  honors  with  the  sterner  sex." 

u  You  have  not  had  equal  opportunities." 

"We  have  not  improved  tho  opportunities 
that  are  given  us.  Take,  for  instance,  the 
science  of  music.  Woman  can  perform  the 


1 1 8  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

most  difficult  productions  with  a  clearness  of 
conception,  and  fineness  of  touch,  that  proves 
her  execution  faultless,  vet  she  has  not  risen  to 
eminence  as  a  composer.  You  will  concede  that, 
in  this  department,  more  attention  is  paid  to  the 
education  of  women  than  men  ?  " 

"And  if  I  do,  how  will  you  account  for 
woman's  failure?" 

"There  are  several  reasons  why  she  does  not 
succeed.  She  is  not  a  free  thinker,  and  she  is 
hampered  by  petty  cares." 

"  All  women  "are  not  4  hampered  by  petty 
cares,'  Miss  Jones." 

"  Some  are  comparatively  free,  yet  none  abso 
lutely  untrarameled.  Much  of  woman's  time  is 
spent  in  ornamenting  her  wardrobe  and  making 
pastry." 

"Then  you  do  not  believe  in  making  pastry?  " 

"  I  think  more  potatoes  and  less  pastry  would 
be  better  for  both  sexes." 

"And  you  advocate  dress  reform?" 

"  I  believe  in  dress  reform,  'though  I  do  not 
advocate  it.  So  much  has  been  said  on  the  sub 
ject,  that  it  is  already  hackneyed,  and  the 
discussion  is  barren  of  good  results." 


James   Wells.  IIQ 

"  All  reforms  are  brought  about  by  discussion. 
I  think  the  intelligent  women  of  America  will 
finally  inaugurate  a  reform  in  dress." 

"The  'intelligent  women  of  America'  yield 
implicit  obedience  to  the  dictates  of  Fashion, 
Mr.  Wells,  and  I  have  little  hope  of  reform. 
Man  would  not  suffer  so  much  inconvenience, 
but  woman  dares  not  assert  her  independence. 
And,  then,  the  subject  of  dress  reform  has  been 
discussed  in  connection  with  the  suffrage  ques 
tion  until  both  are  odious  in  the  minds  of  many 
sensible  women." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  woman's  rights? " 

"  Not  as  you  construe  the  term.  I  believe 
that  when  a  woman  does  her  work  equally  as 
well  as  a  man,  she  should  receive  a  man's  wages. 
I  believe  that  a  married  woman  should  have  the 
right  to  make  contracts  and  hold  property  inde 
pendent  of  her  husband ;  but  I  cannot  see  how 
she  will  be  benefited  by  suffrage.  Certainly  not 
by  agitating  the  muddy  waters  of  party  politics."' 

u  Give  woman  the  right  of  suffrage,  and 
will  she  not  bring  about  the  reforms  you 
mention?" 

"  I  think  not.     Men  will  lead  and  women  will 


A   Century  of  Gossip. 

follow.  Nine-tenths  of  the  married  women  will 
vote  with  their  husbands,  and  the  others  will 
not  go  to  the  polls.  The  time  spent  in  dis 
cussing  the  suffrage  question  could  be  more 
profitably  spent  in  advocating  necessary  reforms. 
.  Men  will  deal  justly  with  us  when  they  learn 
our  real  needs.  They  are  simply  blinded  by  the 
dust  of  the  suffrage  question." 

"I  think  there  are  many  matters  in  which 
woman  should  feel  a  deeper  interest  than  in  the 
question  of  suffrage.  Our  laws  relating  to  the 
rights  of  married  wTornen  are  unjust  and  oppres 
sive.  In  case  of  the  husband's  death,  she  is  the 
natural,  but  not  the  lawful,  guardian  of  her  own 
children,  while  the  law  makes  the  father  the 
guardian  of  his  children  whether  the  mother  be 
living  or  dead.  There  are  many  other  cases  of 
unjust  discrimination  between  husbands  and 
wives.  Many  of  the  Western  States  are  far  in 
advance  of  us  in  righting  these  matters." 

"  Yes,  sir.     Our  people  are  eminently  conserv 
ative,    and    very   slow    to    adopt    even    needed 

reforms." 

\ 

The     discussion    was    continued    until    they 
reached  Mrs.  Love's.     The  weather  had  moder- 


James   Wells.  121 

ated,  the  moon  was  shining  brightly,  and  James 
intentionally  protracted  the  ride. 

"Have  you  been  sitting  up  for  us,  Mrs. 
Love?" 

"  Xot  long.  It  is  so  pleasant  that  I  did  n't 
expect  you  home  early.  Come  in  and  get  a 
lunch,  Mr.  Wells.  I  have  a  cup  of  hot  tea, 
some  warm  muffins,  and  a  plate  of  doughnuts, 
for  you  and  Bessie." 

James  did  not  try  to  resist  the  temptation  to 
spend  another  hour  with  Bessie.  Like  a  sensi 
ble  man,  he  tied  his  horses  and  went  in. 

"  Did  you  enjoy  your  ride,  Bessie?  " 

"Very  much;  and  I  am  under  obligations  to 
you  for  suggesting  to  Mr.  Wells  that  I  wanted 
to  go." 

"How  is  Harry?" 

"  Much  better,  thank  you.  He  went  to  Ber 
wick  with  Mr.  Wells,  and  the  ride  did  him  so 
much  good." 

"  Then  we  were  both  benefited,  Miss  Jones.  I 
enjoyed  his  company  exceedingly." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  all  had  a  good  time.  Now 
give  me  your  wraps,  and  see  if  you  can  enjoy 
my  muffins." 


122  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"I  can't  answer  for  Miss  Jones;  but  you 
know  that  I  always  enjoy  them,  Mrs.  Love, 
and  I  imagine  they  will  be  especially  enjoyable 
to-night." 

"I  hope  so;  for  I  feel  like  having  a  good  chat 
with  yon.  You  call  so  seldom,  lately,  Mr. 
Wells." 

"  I  have  been  very  busy,  Mrs.  Love.  I  shall 
call  again  before  I  leave  home." 

"  You  used  to  call  every  week." 

"  I  had'  plenty  of  leisure  then.  Clients  were 
not  numerous ;  and  I  was  glad  to  borrow  a  little 
sunshine  from  you." 

"  You  have  returned  it  with  interest." 

"  Thank  you." 

The  trio  "enjoyed  the  muffins"  and  the  tea. 
, There  is  an  indescribable  exhilaration  in  a  cup 
of  tea,  that  is  not  confined  to  the  fair  sex.  The 
" lords  of  creation"  may  disclaim  and  call  it 
woman's  beverage,  but  they  feel  its  potent  influ 
ence,  and  relish  its  trimmings  of  gossip.  The 
little  party  that  gathered  around  Mrs.  Love's 
bright  fire-place  took  tea  without  trimmings, 
but  the  stream  of  interesting  conversation 
flowed  for  an  hour  without  interruption,  when 


James   Wells.  123 

James  reluctantly  bade  the  jolly  hostess  and  the 
happy  schoolma'am  good  night. 

During  the  next  week  James  had  business 
with  Mrs.  Love  almost  every  evening.  It  was 
dispatched  with  remarkable  rapidity,  and  he 
devoted  most  of  the  time  to  Bessie.  On  Mon 
day  evening  she  gave  directions  about  the 
collection  of  a  small  note.  On  Tuesday, 
Wednesday,  and  Thursday  evenings  he  came 
for  additional  instructions.  There  was  a  merry 
twinkle  in  the  widow's  eyes  as  she  admitted  him 
on  Thursday  evening.  She  answered  his  unim 
portant  question  about  "that  note,"  plead  a 
severe  headache,  and  asked  to  be  excused.  Her 
request  was  granted  with  seeming  reluctance. 
If  you  are  a  genuine  Yankee,  dear  reader,  you 
"  guess  "  it  was  only  seeming. 

"  Good  bye,  Bessie.     Shall  I  write  to  you?  " 
"  It  will  afford  me  pleasure  to  hear  from  you 
often." 


CHAPTEE   VI. 

THE    FORGERY. 

ELLO,  JACK  ;   would  n't  you  like  to  be 
a  Justice  of  the   Peace?" 
"I  don't  know.     Is  there  any  money 

in  it?" 

"  Some  money,  and  lots  of  onner." 

*4  How  '11  I  git  the  office,  Deacon?  " 

"  I  '11  git  'Squire  Gray  to  write  to  the  Govner 

and  git  you  appinted.     'Squire  Blunt  will  sound 

kind  o'  good." 

"What   does  the  Govner  care  about  'Squire 

Gray?" 

"  'Squire  Gray  helped  him  in  the  nominashun, 

and  't  ain't  very  hard  to  git  a  Justice  appinted 

if  the  fust  person  that  moves  in  it  has  innocence, 

and  that's  me." 

"Well,  I  ain't  a  carin',  Deacon;  but  there's 

'Squire    Shaw   don't   make   enough   out  o'  the 

office  to  buy  salt  for  his  porridge." 

(124) 


The  Forgery.  125 

"You -11  make  more  nor  him.  I've  got  a 
twenty-five-dollar  job  for  you  to  begin  with,  and 
I  '11  give  you  lots  o'  notes  to  sue  on." 

"All  right.  Bring  along  your  office.  I'll 
take  it/' 

"I'll   go  and  see  'Squire  Gray,  and  git  you 

appinted." 

-What    is    that    little    job    you    spoke    of, 

Deacon?" 

"Time  enough  to  tell  you  about  that  when 
you  're  a  actin'  Justice,  Jack.  I  ain't  noted  for 
talkin'  too  much,  like  some  people  I  know  of.'' 

u  Air  you  alludin'  to  me,  Deacon  T' 

"  If  the  shoe  fits  you,  you  can  wear  it  a  little 
wile,  Jack;  but  we  won't  quarrel  about  that. 
Let  by-gones  be  by-gones;  but  look  out  for  by 
gones  in  the  futer." 

"  I  can  keep  my  tongue  still  when  its  ankered 
with  silver/' 

"But  it  takes  too  heavy  a  anker,  Jack. 
You  've  got  more  'n  a  hundred  dollars  out  o' 
me,  and  if  there's  anybody  what  orter  keep 
his  tongue  atween  his  teeth,  it's  Jack  Blunt." 

u  And  I  've  made  you  more  *n  a  thousand  dol 
lars,  Deacon." 


126  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  There  's  where  you  're  rattled.  I  made  all 
my  own  money  accordin'  to  law,  as  everybody 
knows." 

"  I  guess  you  made  some  of  it  accordin'  to 
Jack  Blunt  and  Tom  Siddons.  Don't  you 
remember  that  Jones  bizness?" 

"  The  less  you  say  about  that  Jones  bizness 
the  better  you  '11  be  off,  Jack.  Apprisin'  a  place 
for  one-third  it 's  wuth  is  a  penitenshary  offense, 
and  you  'd  better  keep  mum.'1 

"  If  I  was  in  State's  prison,  where  would  you 
be,  Deacon?" 

"  In  Elton,  I  s'pose..  They  can't  tetcli  me  for 
buyin'  property  at  the  apprisement" 

"  If  they  found  out  that  you  paid  me  and  Tom 
Siddons  fifty  dollars  for  apprisin'  of  it,  I  guess 
they  'd  take  you  along  with  us." 

"No  they  wouldn't,  Jack.  I've  perceeded 
accordin'  to  law,  as  I  allers  do;  but  there's  no 
use  talkin'  about  that.  Keep  mum,  and  stick  to 
the  goose  that  lays  the  golden  aig." 

"  I  will;  but  I  want  a  little  of  the  aig  once  in 
a  wile." 

"  You  shall  have  it,  Jack." 


The  Forgery.  127 

"  Elijah,  put  the  saddle  on  old  Charley  for  me. 
I  'in  goin'  down  to  'Squire  Gray's/ ' 

"What 's  in  the  wind  now,  father?" 

"  I  want  him  to  git  Jack  Blunt  appinted  Jus 
tice  of  the  Peace." 

"Why  don't  you  git  a  holler  fence  pole 
appinted?  " 

"  Xo  nonsense,  Elijah.  Jack  Blunt  is  the 
makin'  of  a  good  'Squire." 

"  He  do  n't  know  nothin'  about  law." 

"  'Squires  don't  need  to." 

u  Jack  Blunt  ain't  overly  onest." 

"If  he  was,  I  wouldn't  want  him  appinted, 
Elijah." 

"Oh,  ho!  There's  somethin'  brewing  father. 
Can't  ye  tell  a  feller?  " 

"  Not  jest  yet.  I  '11  show  you  them  four  aces 
bimeby." 

The  Deacon  interviewed  Esquire  Gray,  and  a 
petition  for  the  appointment  of  Jack  Blunt  was 
sent  to  the  Governor.  The  Esquire's  nerves 
were  steady  when  he  wrote:  "Mr.  Blunt  pos 
sesses,  in  an  eminent  degree,  the  Jeffersonian 
qualifications."  The  Governor  brought  the 
matter  up  in  Council,  vouched  for  Jack  Blunt, 


128  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

and  in  due  time  his  commission  was  forwarded. 
A  shrewd  politician  never  kicks  down  the  ladder 
by  which  he  ascends,  and  Esquire  Gray  is  one 
of  the  rounds  of  the  Governor's  ladder. 


"Patience,  go  up  stairs.  Me  and  Elijah  has  a 
little  privacy,  and  wimmin  has  no  bizness  'round 
when  there  's  privacy  goin'  on." 

Patience  Wells  left  the  room  with  a  heavy 
heart.  She  knew  that  "little  privacy"  meant 
fraud,  and  she  could  not  prevent  it. 

"  Elijah,  have  you  got  that  deed  you  writ  out 
for  Bessie  Jones  to  sign?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  It 's  on  the  top  shelf  in  the  parler 
cubberd." 

"Jack  Blunt  has  got  his  appintment,  and 
we  '11  take  it  up  to  his  house,  sign  Bessie's  name 
to  it,  and  git  Jack  to  acknolige  it." 

"  Won't  we  git  into  a  scrape?  " 

;'  No,  indeed.  There  '11  be  Jack's  acknolig- 
inent  to  prove  she  signed  it  herself;  do  n't  you 
see?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  You  've  got  them  four  aces,  shure 
enough.' 


0/1 '*•£-*-  CO  — . 


'II  sign  it  myself,     lean  write  smallish,  like  a  woman." 

-  PAGE  130. 


The  Forgery.  129 

"  I  allers  hold  'em  when  they  're  needful, 
Elijah." 

"  You  do;  shure  's  you  're  born." 

"  And  there  's  nobody  knows  no  better  how  to 
play  'em  than  your  old  father,  Elijah." 

"  You  can  beat  the  man  that  made  'em, 
father." 


"  Now,  Jack,  send  that  gal  of  yourn  out  o'  the 
house.  We  're  on  bizness." 

"  Nellie  is  busy  in  the  kitchen,  Deacon,  and 
she  won't  be  in  here." 

"  Gals  is  allers  peekin"1  'round,  'Squire  Blunt, 
and  you  'd  better  send  her  to  the  neighbors." 

u  She  won't  send  wuth  a  cent,  Deacon,  and 
we  '11  go  up  stairs  and  lock  the  door.  She  '11 
think  somethin  's  in  the  wind  if  we  send  her 
away." 

"Gals  orter  be  trained  up  to  mind,  Jack;  but 
if  it 's  all  safe  up  stairs,  we  '11  go.  Bring  a  pen 
and  ink  along." 

"  All  right." 

The  three  villains  went  up  to  the  little  cham 
ber.  Jack  locked  the  door,  and  the  Deacon  told 


130  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

him  what  he  expected  him  to  do.     He  assented, 
and  Elijah  produced  the  deed. 

"  Now  sign  Bessie  Joneses  name  to  it,  Elijah." 

"That  won't  do,  Deacon.  It  must  be  a  dif 
ferent  hand-writin'  from  the  deed." 

"That's  so,  Jack.  You  will  have  to  sign 
it." 

"That  won't  do  nuther.  My  writin' will  be 
in  the  acknoligment." 

"  I  will  sign  it  myself.  I  can  write  smallish, 
like  a  woman." 

Deacon  Wells  signed  Bessie's  name  to  the 
deed.  Jack  Blunt  wrote  the  acknowledgment, 
and  the  old  Deacon  placed  the  instrument  in 
his  side  pocket. 

"  Now  we  Ve  got  'er.     Less  go  home,  Elijah." 

"Hold  on,  Deacon.  You're  forgittin'  that 
twenty -live  dollars,  and  I'm  for  gittin1  it/' 

u  You  're  rather  hard  on  me,  Jack.  I  kalker- 
late  fifteen  dollars  is  a  big  price;  don't  you, 
Elijah?" 

"  You  orter  to  do  that  little  writin'  for  ten, 
Jack,  and  that  is  a  orful  price." 

"Your  father  promised  me  twenty-five  dol 
lars,  Lige,  and  it 's  dirt  cheap  at  that.  Look  at 


The  Forgery.  131 

the  resk  I  'm  runnin'  by  that  little  acknolig- 
ment." 

••  We  run  jest  as  much  risk,  and  don't  git  a 
cent  for  it." 

"Don't,  hey!  What  is  that  little  dockeyment 
wuth  to  you  ? " 

"'T  ain't  wuth  twenty-five  dollars,  Jack;  but 
here  's  your  money.  If  ever  this  comes  up  in 
court  you  '11  have  to  swear  that  Bessie  Jones 
signed  the  deed  herself." 

"But  s'posiir  I  don't  swear  to  that,  then 
what?" 

"  You  '11  be  tried  for  forgin',  and  sent  to  the 
penitenshary;  that 's  all." 

"When  I  go  to  the  penitenshary  for  that  little 
writiii'  there  '11  be  a  church  in  Elton  lookin' 
'round  for  a  new  deacon.  Mind  that." 

"  What '11  they  want  of  a  new  deacon?" 

"  The  old  'un  will  be  learnin'  a  trade  with  me." 

"  If  you  ain't  a  born  fool,  and  afeared  to  swear, 
you  won't  go  to  the  penitenshary,  Jack." 

"  Come,  father,  less  go  home.  You  need  n't 
be  afeared  of  Jack.  He  '11  swear  all  right." 

On  their  way  home,  Deacon  Wells  and  his 
son  discussed  Jack  Blunt's  character. 


132  A    Century  of  Gossip. 

"  S'posiir  Jack  should  git  ugly,  father,  he  'd 
have  us  in  a  short  row?  " 

"He'll  not  git  ugly,  Elijah.  I  know  too 
much  agin  him." 


"Here's  a  letter  from 'Squire  Gray,  Elijah. 
He  says  the  case  of  Bessie  Jones  agin  Hezekiah 
Wells  is  sot  for  day  after  to-morrer.  We  will 
have  to  go  to  court.  Won't  they  be  took  back 
when  they  see  that  deed?  Ketch  a  weesil  asleep, 
will  ye?" 

"We've  got  'ern,  father." 

"  Yes;  and  we'll  hold  'em,  Elijah." 

"  Shure  's  you  're  born." 

At  the  appointed  time  the  case  was  called 
and  the  trial  commenced.  Lawyer  Ainsworth 
proved,  without  difficulty,  that  no  notice  was 
served  on  his  client,  and  moved  to  set  the  sale 
aside,  so  far  as  it  affected  the  rights  of  Bessie 
Jones. 

Esquire  Gray  arose,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
feels  that  he  can  annihilate  his  opponent: 

"  May  it  please  the  Court,  I  have  an  objection 
to  interpose." 


The  Forgery.  133 

"  State  your  objection." 

"The  sale  is  good  so  far  as  the  interest  of 
Harry  Jones  is  concerned,  and  we  will  save  the 
expense  of  another  trial  by  introducing  a  quit 
claim  deed  for  Bessie's  interest  in  her  father's 
place.  Here  is  the  deed,  your  Honor." 

"  Pass  it  to  Mr.  Ainsworth." 

The  practiced  eye  of  Mr.  Ainsworth  detected 
the  forgery  at  once.  The  signature  was  coarse, 
and  evidently  the  work  of  a  man's  hand.  It 
was  written  "Besse"  Jones,  and  he  unhesita 
tingly  pronounced  it  a  forgery. 

Esquire  Gray  proposed  to  prove  the  execution 
of  the  deed,  and  called  Deacon  Wells  to  the 
witness  stand.  After  the  usual  preliminary 
questions,  he  asked: 

"  Deacon  Wells,  did  you  ever  see  this  deed 
before?" 

"  Ever  see  it  afore?  To  be  shure  I  have.  I  Ve 
carried  it  in  my  pocket  for  nearly  a  year." 

"Was  it  executed  by  the  plaintiff,  Bessie 
Jones? " 

"  No,  sir.  It  was  executed  by  my  Elijah,  and 
signed  by  Bessie  Jones  afore  'Squire  Blunt. 
The  deed  shows  for  itself." 


134  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Then  it  was  written  by  your  son,  Elijah?  " 
"  Yes,  sir;  Elijah  writ  it  and  Bessie  signed  it." 
"  Did  you  see  her  sign  it?  " 
"  Yes,  sir." 


"  Where  did  she  sign  it? " 


"Afore  'Squire  Blunt,  in  the  little  chamber, 
up  stairs." 

"What  was  the  consideration?  " 

"  In  consideraslmn  of  her  duty,  I  s'pose." 

"  But  what  did  you  pay  her  for  her  interest  in 
the  property?" 

"Elijah  paid  her;  but  I  don't  consider  as  she 
had  an  intrust  in  it." 

"  How  much  did  he  pay  her?  " 

"  He  give  her  a  five-dollar  dress;  and  that  was 
more 'n  'twas  wuth." 

"  Where  did  he  give  her  the  dress? " 

"  To  'Squire  Blunt's,  the  mornin'  she  signed 
the  deed." 

"  Did  any  one  besides  you  and  'Squire  Blunt 
see  her  sign  the  deed?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Elijah  see  her.  He  's  over  to  Jim 
Hickey's  bakin1  shop,  and  he  '11  come  and  swear 
to  it." 

"  You  can  take  the  witness,  Mr.  Airisworth." 


The  Forgery.  135 

Mr.  Ainsworth  talked  a  moment  with  Bessie, 

and  commenced  the  cross-examination: 

"  You  are  very  sure  that  you  saw  Bessie  Jones 

sign  this  deed?  " 

"•Yes,  sir;  as    shure's  my  name's  Hezekiah 

Wells." 

"What  time  in  the  afternoon  did  she  sign  it?  " 
"About   one   o'clock;    jest    afore    her    skule 

called." 

"And    she  signed   it   in  presence  of  'Squire 

Blunt  and  Elijah?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     'Squire  Blunt,  Elijah  and  me  was 

present." 

"  Do  you  know  'Squire  Blunt  to  be  a  regularly 

commissioned  Justice  of  the  Peace?" 

"  I  orter  know  it.     I  was  the  fust  man  that 

moved  in  gittiii'  him  appinted." 

"Then  he  was  appointed  by  your  request?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     Mine  and  'Squire  Gray's." 

"  Can  you  spell  Bessie  Jones'  name?  " 

"  I  guess  so.     Anybody  that  knows  anything 

about  spellin'  can  do  that." 

"You  may  spell  it,  if  you  please,  Deacon." 
"  B-e-s  Bes  s-e  se,  Besse,  J-o-n-e-s  Jones,  Besse 

Jones." 


136  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"That  will  do,  Deacon." 

Deacon  "Wells  left  the  stand  with  a  self-satis 
fied  air,  failing  to  notice  the  broad  grin  that 
came  so  near  demoralizing  the  Bench  and  Bar. 
Elijah  Wells  was  called,  and  Esquire  Gray  pro 
ceeded  with  his  "proof." 

"Elijah,  did  yon  ever  see  this  instrument 
before?1' 

"What!  that  deed?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Guess  I  have,  'Squire.     I  writ  it." 

"Who  signed  it?" 

"Bessie  Jones." 

"Where?" 

"At  Widow  Love's." 

"Was  Mrs.  Love  present?" 

"  No,  sir.  She  runs  'round  to  the  neighbors  a 
good  deal." 

"What  was  the  consideration?" 

"The  what?" 

"What  did  you  pay  her  for  signing  the  deed? " 

"  I  did  n't  pay  her  nothin'  for  signiir  the  deed. 
I  give  her  twenty -five  dollars  for  her  quit-claim 
to  her  intrust  in  the  place  that  already  belonged 
to  dad." 


The  Forgery.  137 

"  Were  von  present  when  she  signed  the 
deed?" 

"To  be  shure  I  were." 

"And  twenty-five  dollars  was  the  considera 
tion?" 

"I  s'pose  that's  what  yon  call  it.  I  know  I 
give  her  the  money." 

"  You  can  take  the  witness,  Mr.  Ainsworth." 

"  Your  name  is  Elijah  Wells? " 

"Jess  so." 

"You  are  the  son  of  Deacon  Hezekiah 
Wells?" 

"So  they  say." 

"  And  you  wrote  that  deed?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Who  asked  you  to  write  it?  " 

"Dad." 

"Where  did  you  get  the  description  of  the 
land?" 

"  I  took  the  deed  the  Sheriff  give  dad,  and 
wrrit  it  jest  like  it." 

"  You  say  you  were  present  when  the  deed  was 
signed?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  it  was  signed  at  Mrs.  Love's?  " 


138  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Was-your  father  present?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"Was  'Squire  Blunt  there?  " 

"No,  sir.  Bessie  went  afore  Jack  Blunt  to 
acknolige  the  deed,  but  he  wan't  there  when  she 
signed  it." 

"When  was  it  signed?" 

"I  don't  jest  remember.  Somethin1  like  two 
weeks  ago.  'T  was  the  day  Jack  Blunt  got  his 
appintment." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  on  that  day? " 

"  'Cause  dad  told  me  Jack  had  jest  got  his 
papers,  and  we  'd  go  up  and  sign  the  deed." 

"Go  up  to  Jack's  house  and  sign  the  deed?" 

"  No,  sir.     Go  and  git  it  acknoliged." 

"And  you  went  up?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Who  did  you  find  at  'Squire  Blunt's?" 

"  Nobody  but  Jack.  Nellie  was  in  the 
kitchen." 

"Who  went  with  you?" 

"  Dad." 

"  Then  you  and  your  father  were  the  only  per 
sons  present  when  the  deed  was  acknowledged? " 


The  Forgery.  139 

"Jess  so/' 

"Where  was  Bessie  Jones?  " 

"Teechin'  skule,  I  s'pose." 

"Who  paid  'Squire  Blunt  for  taking  the 
acknowledgment? " 

"  Dad  paid  him  twenty -five  dollars  for  it.  It 
was  a  orful  price,  and  I  told  Jack  so." 

"  Did  your  father  grumble  at  the  price?" 

"  He  sort  o'  tried  to  git  Jack  to  come  down, 
but  he  did  n't  come  down  wuth  a  cent." 

u  What  reason  did  he  give  for  charging  such 
an  exorbitant  price  for  taking  an  acknowledg 
ment?" 

"  There  was  nothin'  said  about  that  kind  of  a 
price.  Jack  claimed  that  dad  promised  him 
twenty-five  dollars,  and  he  stuck  and  hung  for 
it  like  a  hungry  cat  in  butcherin'  time." 

"  Do  you  know  what  induced  your  father  to 
promise  such  a  sum?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  could  got  it  done  for  ten  if  I  'd 
made  the  bargin." 

"  You  like  to  make  a  good  bargain,  do  you 
not,  Elijah?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  But  I  hain't  such  a  hankerin'  that 
way  as  some  folks." 


140  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Yet  you  bought  Bessie  Jones'  interest  in  the 
old  homestead  very  low?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  but  that  was  because  dad  owned  it 
afore.  I  do  n't  count  that  a  sharp  bargin,  but  I 
often  make  'em  burin'  yearlin's  and  clam  priv- 
'leges." 

"That  will  do,  Elijah.  You  may  stand 
aside." 

"  Can  I  set  down,  if  I  want  to?" 

"  Certainly." 

Bessie  Jones  was  called,  and  stated  that  she 
never  conveyed  her  interest  in  the  old  home 
stead.  Esquire  Gray  knew  that  she  told  the 
truth,  and  he  did  not  cross-examine  her.  Dea 
con  Wells  wanted  Jack  Blunt  to  "  take  a  swear 
at  the  case,"  but  Jack  could  not  be  found.  The 
sale  was  set  aside,  and  Bessie  Jones  was  declared 
the  owner  of  the  undivided  one-half  of  the 
homestead  in  fee  simple. 

Deacon  Wells  started  home  in  an  ill  humor. 
He  had  played  a  desperate  game,  and  lost.  He 
did  not  think  of  the  consequences  of  his  crime. 
He  had  lost  five  thousand  dollars. 

"Well,  father,  that's  the  fust  time  I  ever 
knowed  four  aces  beat." 


The  Forgery.  141 

"  Yon  conterdicted  my  evidence,  Elijah,  and 
Jack  Blunt  wan't  there  to  swear." 

"  How  did  I  know  what  you  was  goin'  to  swear 
to,  father?" 

"  If  you  'd  been  in  the  court  room  instead  of 
munchin'  pies  at  Jim  Hickey's,  you  'd  a  knowed 
how  to  swear." 

"  I  was  hungry,  and  I  had  to  have  sometliin' 
to  eat." 

"  If  you  'd  put  a  doughnut  in  your  pocket, 
instead  of  spendhr  your  money  at  Jim  Hickey's, 
you  'd  be  better  off.  I  '11  have  to  sell  my  bank 
stock  to  pay  Bessie  Jones." 

"  What  will  you  have  to  pay  her,  father? " 

"  'Squire  Gray  thinks  he  can  git  'round  her 
and  git  a  deed  for  three  thousand  dollars;  but 
that  is  a  good  deal  of  money,  Elijah,  and  we'll 
have  to  cut  close  to  save  it  up." 

"  The  mill  will  make  it  in  two  years.  It 's 
clearin'  more'n  fifteen  hundred  a  year." 

"  Three  thousand  dollars  is  a  big  pile.  I  '11 
ask  him  to  try  her  on  two." 


"  Here 's  a  deed  for  your  undivided  half  of  the 


142  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

old  place,  Miss  Jones.  I  have  put  the  sum  of 
three  thousand  dollars  as  the  consideration. 
That  sum 'will  be  clear.  The  sale  will  stand 
as  it  was  originally  made;  that  is,  the  Deacon 
will  have  no  recourse  on  you  for  the  recovery  of 
a  part  of  the  original  purchase  money,  which 
went  to  pay  your  father's  debts.  The  price  is 
what  I  consider  fa'r,  under  the  circumstances, 
and  if  it  suits  you,  you  may  sign  the  deed." 

"I  want  to  deal  justly  with  Deacon  Wells, 
notwithstanding  his  attempt  to  defraud  me;  but 
I  don't  know  what  I  ought  to  ask  for  my 
interest  in  the  property.  I  shall  leave  the 
matter  with  Mr.  Ainsworth." 

" You'd  better  fix  the  price  yourself,  Miss 
Jones.  Some  lawyers  do  n't  always  do  the  best 
thing  for  their  clients." 

"  I  have  confidence  in  Mr.  Ainsworth,  and  I 
am  sure  he  will  be  just  to  all  parties  concerned." 

Esquire  Gray  left  Bessie  Jones  feeling  that  he 
was  already  foiled.  He  could  not  persuade  Mr. 
Ainsworth  to  take  a  penny  less  than  the  full 
value  of  the  property;  but  he  must  try,  for  his 
client  expected  it.  He  took  the  morning  stage 
for  Glenville. 


The  Forgery.  143 

"Plow  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ainsworth ?  Are  you 
very  busy  to-day?" 

"  Very  well,  and  not  too  busy  to  smoke  with 
you.  Sit  down." 

"  I  came  to  talk  with  you  about  that  Jones 
property.  Bessie  says  you  are  authorized  to 
dispose  of  her  interest." 

"  Yes,  sir.  By  the  way,  'Squire,  that  was  a 
very  foolish  piece  of  business,  forging  that  deed. 
It  was  a  bungling  job." 

"Do  you  intend  to  prosecute  him  for  it?" 

"  No.  I  have  too  much  respect  for  James  to 
assist  in  prosecuting  his  father;  but  the  Grand 
Jury  will  probably  indict  him." 

"  I  hope  the  matter  will  be  dropped." 

"  They  will  hardly  pass  by  such  an  offense.  It 
is  in  everybody's  mouth.  But  what  proposition 
do  you  make  about  the  property? " 

"  I  thought  about  three  thousand  dollars  would 
be  a  fair  price  for  it,  considering  all  the  circum 
stances.  I  suppose  Bessie  would  be  held  for 
one-half  her  father's  debts,  and  three  thousand 
dollars  would  be  about  right  for  a  quit-claim 
deed." 

."  Her    father's    debts    are   paid.     If  Deacon 


144  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Wells  wants  to  convey  his  half  of  the  property, 
we  will  refund  the  purchase  money  with  interest, 
and  ffive  him  a  thousand  dollars  bonus.  I  have 

O 

been  offered  three  thousand  dollars  for  one-half 
the  hemlock  bark." 

"What  is  your  lowest  price  for  Bessie's 
interest?" 

"  Eight  thousand  dollars." 

"  You  can't  find  a  purchaser  at  that  price." 

"Can't  11  I  shall  sell  it  for  that  sum  before 
next  Saturday  evening.  Mark  that." 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Ainsworth.  I  will  state  your 
proposition  to  my  client." 

"  Good  day,  'Squire.  Tell  him  to  hurry  up,  if 
he  wants  the  place." 

« I  will." 


"  Good  morning,  Deacon." 

"How  do  do, 'Squire?" 

"  I  went  to  see  Bessie  Jones,  and  she  referred 
me  to  Mr.  Ainsworth.  I  went  to  Glenville  to 
see  him,  and  he  asks  eight  thousand  dollars  for 
Bessie's  interest." 

u  E-i-ff-h-t    t-h-o-u-s-a-n-d    d-o-l-l-a-r-s  ! " 


The  Forgery.  145 

"  Yes,  sir.     That  is  his  lowest  price." 

"  He  '11  wait  a  long  wile  for  a  buyer,  'Squire." 

"  He  says  he  will  sell  it  before  next  Saturday 
night." 

"  Who  '11  pay  that  much  for  it? " 

"I  don't  know;  but  he  has  his  eye  on  a  pur 
chaser.  He  has  been  offered  three  thousand 
dollars  for  Bessie's  share  of  the  hemlock  bark." 

"Three  thousand  dollars  for  the  bark?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  'Squire  Gray,  Ainsworth  is  lyin'  to  you." 

"  So  he  is,  father.  There 's  nobody  that  'ud  be 
fool  enough  to  pay  three  thousand  dollars  for  all 
the  hemlock  bark  in  Maine." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Elijah.  The  Shaws  paid  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  for  the  hemlock  bark  on  the  Belt 
land." 

"  Do  you  believe  Ainsworth  was  tellin'  you 
the  truth,  'Squire?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,  Deacon.  He  says  he  will  pay 
your  money  back,  with  interest,  and  a  thousand 
dollars  bonus,  if  you  '11  convey  your  half  of  the 
place." 

"  Take  him  up,  father." 

"  Do  n't  gallup  when  you  're  goin1  down  hill, 
10 


146  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

Elijah.  The  mill  pays  over  fifteen  hundred  a 
year." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  and  see  Mr.  Ains- 
worth  yourself,  Deacon?'' 

"Sol  will.     I'll  go  to-morrer." 

The  Deacon  went  to  Glenville  the  next  morn 
ing,  sold  his  bank  stock,  and  bought  Bessie's 
interest  from  Mr.  Ainsworth  for  the  price 
named,  after  trying  for  an  hour  to  get  it  for  less. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Ainsworth,  'Squire  Gray  says  you 
know  a  man  that  wants  the  hemlock  bark  on  the 
place?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What '11  he  give  for  it?" 

"  Six  thousand  dollars." 

"  Send  him  along,  and  I  '11  give  you  a  five- 
dollar  bill." 

"  I  can't  work  so  cheap  as  that,  Deacon.  I 
wan't  five  per  cent,  for  selling  it." 

"How  much  will  that  be?" 

"  Three  hundred  dollars." 

u  Three  hundred  dollars  for  sellin'  a  little  hem 
lock  bark?" 

"  Six  thousand  dollars  is  not  a  small  sum  for 
bark." 


The  Forgery.  147 

"  I  guess  I  '11  keep  the  bark  awile,  Mr.  Ains- 
worth." 

"  All  right.  Let  me  know  when  you  conclude 
to  sell  it." 

"  Maybe  I  will." 

Deacon  Wells  spent  a  week  in  riding  about  the 
country,  inquiring  of  every  man  he  met  if  he 
"  knowed  anybody  that  wanted  to  buy  some  hem 
lock  back."  He  tried  to  induce  Esquire  Gray  to 
go  to  Mr.  Ainsworth  and  ask  him  about  the 
would-be  purchaser;  but  he  was  informed  that 
Mr.  Ainsworth  was  "up  to  snuff,"  and  would 
keep  his  secret  until  the  Deacon  consented  to 
pay  the  commission.  He  finally  mounted  old 
Charley  and  visited  Mr.  Ainsworth. 

"Good  mornin',  Mr.  Ainsworth.  I  guess 
hemlock  bark  won't  go  no  higher  this  season, 
and  I've  concluded  to  let  mine  go,  if  you'll 
do  it  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

"  Can't  do  it,  Deacon." 

"  Say  two  hundred." 

"E"o,  sir.  Three  hundred  dollars  is  my 
price." 

"Three  hundred  'tis,  then;  but  it's  a  orful 
price," 


148  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Six  thousand  is  an  <  awful  price  '  for  the  bark, 
Deacon." 

"  It 's  a  purty  fair  price;  but  hemlock  is  hem 
lock,  now-a-days.  You  can  keep  five  thousand 
for  the  Bessie  Jones  morgidge,  take  out  your 
three  hundred,  and  send  me  the  other  seven  by 
onest  John,  the  stage  driver." 

"I  have  not  seen  Miss  Jones  since  the  trial; 
but  I  shall  advise  her  to  let  that  mortgage  run. 
It  is  riot  due  for  two  years,  you  know." 

"You  don't  want  me  to  pay  ten  per  cent, 
intrust  on  that  morgidge  when  I'll  have  the 
money  to  take  it  up?  That's  bearin' down  too 
hard." 

"Our  motto  is:  'Do  as  you  are  done  by,' 
Deacon." 

"  But  it  ain't  accordin'  to  Scripter." 

"  It  is  too  late  in  the  day  to  conduct  this  case 
'  according  to  Scripture.'  It  was  n't  started  on  a 
Scriptural  foundation." 

"  Maybe  Bessie  wants  the  money  now." 

"  No,  sir.  She  wrote  me  to  retain  my  fee  and 
invest  the  balance  for  her." 

"  How  much  did  you  tax  her,  Mr.  Ains- 
worthi" 


The  Forgery.  149 

"  Nothing.  I  thought  you  ought  to  pay  her 
attorney's  fee,  and  my  commission  for  selling 
that  bark  will  do  it." 

"  You  lawyers  make  the  chips  fly  when  you 
git  to  chargin',  don't  you?1' 

"  Not  always.  Sometimes  we  simply  take  the 
bark  off." 

"Ain't  there  a  law  agin  takin'  such  fees?" 

"No,  sir.  It  is  lawful  to  charge  for  legal 
services." 

"I  guess  I'll  go  and  settle  with  'Squire 
Gray." 

Deacon  Wells  went  home  to  "  talk  it  over 
with  Elijah." 

"They've  got  us,  father." 

"Yes;  and  they'll  hold  us,  Elijah." 

"  Shure  's  you  're  born." 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

IN    THE    SHOE   SHOP. 

BLUNT  is  crazy  as  a  loon.  She 
tried  to  kill  herself  last  night,  and 
they  're  goin'  to  take  her  to  the 
hospittle."' 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Lige  Wells." 

"  Well,  they  '11  take  Lige  to  a  wus  place  than 
that.  He  '11  go  to  State's  prison,  or  the  Prov 
inces,  before  three  months,  for  forgin'  Bessie 
Joneses  name  to  that  deed." 

"Wonder  if  Jim  will  try  to  clear  him? " 

"  No.  Jim  will  be  to  Congress  when  the 
trial  holds,  and  he  won't  come  back  to  git 
Lige  out  of  a  scrape." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  won't?  " 

"  'T  ain't  nateral  for  him.     He  ain't  that  kind 

of  a  feller." 

(150) 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  .151 

"  If  Lige  and  the  old  Deacon  depend  on 
'Squire  Gray  to  clear  'em,  they'll  havs  a  fust 
rate  chance  to  learn  a  trade." 

"So  they  will,  Sam;  but  they're  too  smart 
for  that.  They  '11  have  a  good  lawyer." 

"  All  the  lawyers  in  Maine  can't  clear  'em. 
The  testimony  is  too  strong  agin  'em." 

"Who  are  the  witnesses?" 

"  Everybody  knows  they  done  it."  . 

"  But  everybody  can't  swear  to  it.  Hearsay 
evidence  won't  do  in  a  court  of  justice." 

"  Bessie  Jones  will  swear  she  did  n't  sign  the 
deed." 

"Yes;  and  Jack  Blunt  will  swear  that  Lige 
or  the  old  Deacon  did." 

"  They  are  not  indicted  yet." 

"  But  :hey  will  be  when  the  Gran'  Jury 
meets.  Jack  Blunt  will  go  before  'em.  He's 
desprit  sense  Kelly  got  crazy." 

"  Wha;  made  her  crazy?" 

"You  know  that  young  teller  that  went  out  o' 
here  one  night  last  winter,  as  if  he  was  sick?" 

"  Yes.  You  thought  the  tobacco  smoke  made 
him  sick,  and  Zach  Brown  said  it  was  some 
thing  worse  than  that." 


152  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  That 's  the  chap.  Well,  he  was  ingaged  to 
Nell,  and  what  he  heered  that  evenin'  opened 
his  eyes,  and  he  finally  broke  it  off,  and  they 
played  quits.  Nell  stood  it  like  a  major  for  a 
wile,  but  it  finally  upsot  her,  and  she  's  got  to  go 
to  the  crazy  hospittle." 

"  That  is  some  of  the  fruits  of  your  gossip, 
boys." 

"  'T  wan't  us,  Uncle  Henry." 

"  Here  is  Zacli.  Ask  him  who  was  here  that 
evening.'1 

"  Zach,  who  was  here  the  evenin'  that  young 
preacher  student  got  sick  last  winter?'' 

Zach  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment,  and 
replied : 

"All  of  us,  and  three  or  four  others.  Lige 
Wells  was  here  before  the  young  fellow  went 
out.  Why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  Uncle  Henry  says  it  was  our  gossip  that 
made  Nell  Blunt  crazy." 

"Uncle  Henry  is  right.  But  for  your  slan 
ders,  Nellie  Blunt  would  have  been  married 
before  this  time.'' 

"  You  said  as  much  agin  her  as  any  of  us, 
Zach." 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  153 

"  That  is  not  true,  Xed.  1  said  that  she  was 
an  honest  girl/' 

"  So  you  did,  Zach.  I  remember  what  a  lec 
ture  you  gave  them." 

"And  you  talked  to  them  yourself,  Uncle 
Henry." 

"So  I  did,  Zach.  If  they  had  heeded  our 
advice,  Nellie  Blunt  might  have  been  a  happy 
wife  to-night." 

"  You  did  n't  say  nothin'  to  us  'till  after  the 
young  feller  went  out." 

"  We  've  cautioned  you  about  slandering  your 
neighbors  more  times  than  you  have  fingers  and 
toes,  both  before  and  after  that  night.  You  got 
so  bad  last  winter  that  Philip  Craig  wouldn't 
come  in  here;  and  he  says  you  have  almost 
ruined  his  Joe  by  your  gossip  and  vulgarity." 

"You  talk  as  if  you  didn't  want  us  here, 
Uncle  Henry." 

"You  know  you  are  always  welcome,  Sam; 
but  I  do  want  you  to  stop  your  gossip." 

""We  must  talk  about  somethin'.  You  don't 
want  us  to  git  as  sleepy  as  Phil  Craig,  do  you? " 

"  Philip  is  not  asleep  when  his  eyes  are  shut. 
He  thinks  more  in  a  minute  than  the  whole 


154  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

capoodle  of  you  do  in  a  month,  except  Zach. 
Brown  and  Ben  Love." 

"  You  allers  liked  Zach  and  Ben  better  'n  the 
rest  of  us." 

"That  is  because  they  don't  gossip,  Sam/1 

"  Most  everybody  gossips,  Uncle  Henry." 

"  No  they  do  n't.     Most  men  dislike  it." 

"How  is  it  about  the  wimmin? " 

"Women  are  no  worse  than  men.  A  sewing 
circle  can't  hold  a  candle  to  you  boys." 

"  You  orter  have  been  to  our  house  yesterday. 
It  was  society  day,  and  you  'd  a  heered  some 
gossip,  I  guess." 

"Not  more  than  I  have  heard  here  this 
evening." 

"Yes  you  would.  They  talked  about  every 
thing.  We  ain't  a  patchin'  to  'em." 

"They  didn't  slander  poor  Nellie  Blunt." 

"  Yes  they  did.  They  talked  wus  'en  we  do 
about  her;  and  they  said  she  wan't  a  mite  crazy, 
but  was  jest  rnakin'  b'leve." 

"  "Well;  gossip  's  all  of  a  piece,  and  't  ain't  any 
worse  in  the  society  than  in  the  shop." 

"  You  can  heer  more  to  the  society.  I  heered 
all  about  Jim  Wells  writin'  such  long  letters  to 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  155 

Bessie  Jones,  and  the  postmaster  give  her  one 
yesterday  mornin'  that  was  longer  '11  the  moral 
law." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  so  long?  "  . 

kk  The  postmaster's  wife  hefted  it." 

"  He  has  a  right  to  write  long  letters  to  Bessie, 
if  he  chooses." 

"Yes;  but  they  say  Bessie  won't  appear  agin 
the  old  Deacon  when  the  Gran'  Jury  meets, 
'cause  she 's  sot  her  cap  for  Jim." 

"Bessie  Jones  isn't  the  kind  of  girl  to  'set 
her  cap '  for  anybody.  She  is  modest  and  lady 
like." 

"  So  she  is,  Ben;  and  I  think  the  Elton  gossips 
ought  to  let  her  alone." 

"They  say  she  paints  — 

"That's  a  lie.  This  is  the  second  winter  she 
has  boarded  at  our  house,  and  I  know  she  do  n't 
paint." 

"  Landscapes.  Do  n't  go  off  half-cocked,  Ben. 
Wait  'till  I  finish  the  sentence." 

"  Pardon  me,  Zach.  I  ought  to  have  known 
better  than  to  speak  so  hastily  to  you,  for  you 
never  gossip;  but  I  am  out  of  patience  with 
Sam  and  Dick,  especially.  On  two  or  three 


156  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

occasions  they  have  insinuated  that  Bessie 
Jones  paints  her  face,  and  I  won't  hear  any 
more  of  it." 

"  What  makes  her  face  so  red  some  mornin's 
when  she  comes  to  skule?" 

"  She  practices  with  her  dumb-bells,  about 
fifteen  minutes,  every  morning  before  starting." 

"What  are  dum  bells,  Ben?" 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"If  I  knowed  I  wouldn't  ask." 

"Shall  I  tell  him,  Ben?" 

"  Certainly,  Zach." 

"  Dumb  belles  are  pretty  girls  that  can't  talk. 
They  never  go  to  the  society." 

"Come,  come,  Zach.  Don't  join  in  the  hue 
and  cry  against  the  sewing  circle.  Let 's  attend 
to  the  male  gossips  iirst." 

"All  right,  Uncle  Henry.  I  was  simply 
stating  a  plain  fact  for  Sam's  edification." 

"  My  edikashun  's  as  good  as  your  'n,  Zach 
Brown." 

"  That  's  so,  Sam ;  but  Dick  says  you  could  n't 
tell  what  a  hundred  and  eighty-seven  pounds  of 
haddock  came  to,  at  two  and  a  half  cents  a 
pound." 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  157 

"That's  'cause  we  don't  eat  no  haddock  to 
our  house.  If  it  had  a  been  codfish  I  could 
told  easy  enough." 

"Sam,  can  you  tell  what  four  eggs,  a  pint  of 
milk  and  half  a  loaf  of  bread  will  come  to,  put 
in  a  brick  oven?" 

"  I  could  if  I  had  my  slate." 

"  I  can  tell  without  my  slate." 

"  Well,  what  will  they  come  to?" 

"Custard  puddin'." 

"  You  're  jest  a  leetle  too  cute  for  anything, 
Mountain  Jack.  You  'd  better  run  home  and  let 
your  mamma  git  you  to  bed." 

"I  know  when  to  go  to  bed,  Sam;  and  that's 
more'n  some  of  Bessie  Joneses  scholars  knows." 

"You  should  say  'pupils,'  Jack.  There  are 
not  many  scholars  in  Elton." 

"  But  there 's  some  dredful  sharp  men  and 
boys,  Ben.  There 's  Deacon  Wells,  for  one." 

"The  Deacon  isn't  very  sharp,  Sam,  or  he 
would  not  have  signed  Bessie  Jones'  name  to 
that  deed." 

"  He 's  sharp  enough  to  git  Bob  Wallace's 
hog." 

"  How  did  he  get  Bob's  hog?" 


158  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

u  Bob  was  owin'  the  old  Deacon  and  conld  n't 
pay  him,  for  the  measels  and  hoop  cough  that 
had  been  in  his  family,  so  the  old  feller  sued 
him.  He  was  down  to  Bob's,  last  week,  and 
'spied  a  five-hundred -pound  hog.  He  sot  his 
heart  on  that  hog,  and  praised  Bob  up  wonder 
ful,  and  told  him  he  done  so  well  raisin'  hogs 
that  he'd  give  him  a  pig,  if  he'd  come  for  it. 
Bob  jumped  at  the  chance  to  git  a  pig,  and 
offered  to  pay  the  Deacon  when  the  children  got 
well;  but  the  Deacon  was  dredful  good,  and  said 
he  did  n't  want  no  pay.  Bob  went  and  got  the 
pig,  not  knowin'  that  the  law  only  allowed  him 
one,  and  the  next  day  the  Deacon  levied  on  the 
big  hog,  and  has  got  him  in  his  pen.  That's 
what  I  call  purty  sharp." 

"  That  is  pretty  sharp  for  a  blue-nose." 
"Yes;  'twill  do  for  a  genuine^  Yankee." 
"Bob  is  elected  for  one  of  the  Gran'  Jurors, 
and  he  '11  git  even  with  the  old  skin-flint  when 
that  forgin'  case  comes  up." 

"Bob  is  very  poor,  and  that  is  a  mean  trick, 
if  it  is  sharp." 

"They  say  the  Deacon's  wife  cried  about  it, 
and  tried  to  get  him  to  give  the  hog  back,  but 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  159 

he  called  her  a  blnbberin'  fool,  and  sent  her  out 
o'  the  room.''  •*' 

"  He  orter  be  ashamed  of  hisself." 

"Folks  say  she '11  leave  him  when  Jim  gits 
marrid,  and  gits  his  new  house  done." 

"  Where  did  Jim  git  money  to  build  that 
big  house?  He  'tends  to  lots  of  cases  for 
nothin'." 

"  Look  at  the  fee  he  got  in  that  big  railroad 
case  up  to  Augusta!  Five  thousand  dollars  at 
one  clip!  They  say  he's  a  lightnin'  railroad 
lawyer." 

"  He  '11  put  it  all  in  that  house  afore  he  gits  it- 
done.  Jest  look  at  the  verandys  and  chickin' 
fixins  he  's  puttin'  up." 

"  He  gets  a  good  many  large  fees.  Jim  Wells 
made  a  great  deal  of  money  last  year." 

"  How  did  hee^it  his  name  up  so?  " 

"  Brains,  my  boy.     Brains  will  tell." 

"  Where  did  Jim  git  so  many  brains? " 

"  From  his  mother." 

"  Pity  she  could  n't  a  served  Lige  in  the  same 
way." 

"  Lige's  brains  were  furnished  by  contract,  and 
a  good  deal  of  sawdust  mixed  in." 


160  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  It  takes  our  singin'  master  to  keep  his 
contract." 

"How  so?" 

"  He  agreed  to  keep  skule  twenty  nights  for 
twenty  dollars.  We  chucked  up  nineteen  dollars 
and  sixty  cents,  and  he  stopped  the  skule  last 
night  afore  half  past  eight  o'clock  'cause  he  said 
the  money  was  expired." 

"  What  did  you  learn  at  singing  school, 
Sam?" 

"I  can  rise  and  fall  the  scale,  and  beat  time." 

"It  must  be  slow  time  if  you  can  beat  it, 
Sam." 

"Time  ain't  so  fast  as  you  be,  Mountain 
Jack.  If  it  were,  a  streak  of  lightnin'  couldn't 
beat  it." 

"  But  it  -s  too  fast  for  a  snail,  Sain." 

"  If.  you  was  n't  such  a  little  mite  of  a  chit, 
I  'd  take  you  acrost  my  knee,  Jack." 

"  No  danger.  Catchin'  before  spankin'  is  the 
rule." 

"  I  wish  you  's  my  boy  for  about  five  minutes." 

"  I  'm  glad  I  ain't  your  boy.  I  'd  have  less 
brains  than  Lige  Wells  has  got." 

"  Come,  boys.     No  quarreling." 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  161 

"  I  do  n't  like  to  be  badgered  by  a  little  tit 
mouse  like  him,  Uncle  Henry." 

"  You  must  not  impose  on  Sam,  Mountain 
Jack." 

"  1  won't  hurt  him,  Uncle  Henry." 

"  Remember,  Jack,  *  that  the  doctrine  that 
'  might  makes  right '  is  not  popular  in  this 
enlightened  age.  You  must  not  abuse  Sam, 
simply  because  you  are  strong  and  he  is 
weak.7' 

"Dame  Nature  teaches  that  doctrine,  Zach, 
however  much  it  is  at  variance  with  our  ideas." 

"  Where  does  Nature  teach  that  <  might  makes 
right,'  Ben?" 

"The  birds  of  the  air,  the  beasts  of  the  field, 
and  the  fishes  that  inhabit  the  great  deep,  nearly 
all  obtain  their  food  on  this  principle." 

"Does  that  make  the  principle  right?" 

"  Yes ;  so  far  as  it  relates  to  the  animal 
kingdom." 

"  May  not  animals  do  wrong?  " 

"Not  when  they  obey  a  natural  instinct." 

"  Tell  us  the  difference,  Ben,  between  instinct 
and  reason." 

"  Instinct  is  a  faculty,  or  aptitude,  with  which 


1 62  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

animals  are  indued,  while  reason  is  confined  to 
man." 

"Yes,  I  see.  Certain  animals  build  habita 
tions  and  provide  stores  for  the  winter.  They 
know,  instinctively,  that  winter  is  coming,  arid 
they  wisely  make  provision  for  it.  Man  does 
the  same  thing,  and  we  call  it  reason.  The  dif 
ference  between  instinct  and  reason  is  as  clear  as 
rnud." 

"  Yet  there  is  a  difference,  Zach,  'though  I  '11 
admit  the  line  is  not  clearly  defined." 

"  The  animals  has  the  best  of  it  these  times. 
A  poor  man  can't  lay  in  enough  to  take  him 
through  the  winter,  on  less  he 's  pertickerler 
ekernomical." 

"  Poor  men  can't  afford  to  practice  economy, 
Sam." 

".Can't  afford  it?" 

"]STo,  sir." 

"  Git  out  with  your  nonsense,  Ben.  They  're 
the  very  fellers  that  has  to  afford  it." 

"  A  poor  man  buys  cheap  goods  for  his  family. 
It  costs  as  much  to  make  up  a  cheap  as  a  good 
piece,  and  it  will  not  wear  half  as  long.  Take, 
for  instance,  a  piece  of  sheeting.  The  poor  man 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  163 

buys  a  poor  piece  for  ten  cents  per  yard,  because 
he  can't  afford  to  buy  a  good  piece  at  fourteen 
cents.  His  wife  can't  make  it  up  and  do  the 
work  in  a  family  of  six  or  seven  children,  so  he 
hires  it  done.  There  is  but  little  wear  in  the 
goods,  and  in  a  few  weeks  it  is  gone,  while  the 
fourteen-cent  sheeting  would  wear  for  months. 
So  you  see,  Sam,  a  poor  man  can't  afford  to  be 
economical." 

"There  is  somethin'  in  it;  but  poor  men's 
children  is  orful  extravagant.  There 's  Hez 
Godfry's  boy  allers  comes  to  skule  with  baked 
beans  loose  in  his  pocket,  right  among  his 
slate  pencils." 

"  I  should  think  they  'd  wet  his  pocket." 

"  No.  He  takes  the  dry  ones  from  the  top  of 
the  pot." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  learn  that  one  of  your  school 
mates  'knows  beans,'  Sam," 

"  That 's  all  he  knows.  His  father  was  down 
on  buildin'  the  skule  house,  and  that 's  why  I  'm 
down  on  his  father.  He  made  a  speech  at  the 
skule  meetin',  and  said  too  much  learnin'  made 
boys  sassy.  He  said  I  were  sassy;  and  if  a  man 
cut  a  cord  of  kiln  wood  and  put  it  on  the  warf, 


164  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

that  was  a  dollar;  and  if  lie  went  a  trip  to 
Bosting  with  Cap'n  Smith,  that  was  twelve 
dollars  more,  and  twelve  dollars  and  one  dollar 
made  thirteen  dollars;  and  that  was  enough 
edikashun  for  any  fool.  But  when  the  vote 
was  took  the  old  feller  was  all  by  hisself,  and 
that  made  him  rothy,  so  he  didn't  send  his  boy 
for  some  time,  and  when  he  did  send  him,  Gus 
Bruce,  the  master,  give  him  an  orful  Hogging 
and  he  took  him  out." 

"  I  did  n't  blame  him  for  that.  Gus  flogged 
the  wrong  boy." 

"Yes;  but  he  went  and  polygized  like  a  little 
man,  and  took  it  all  back,  and  it  did  n't  satisfy 
the  old  feller.  He  said  Gus  orter  took  back  the 
lickin';  and  he'll  let  that  boy  grow  up  in 
ignorance  afore  he  '11  send  to  a  teacher  that 
he  don't  like.  I'm  agin  anybody  that's 
agin  skulin'  their  children.  That's  me,  right 
out,  and  mam  's  proud  o'  my  pinyuns  on  the 
subject." 

"  I  am  glad  your  mother  has  the  courage  to 
feel  proud  of  you,  Sam." 

"  So  'm  I,  Zach.  A  boy  feels  lots  better  when 
folks  is  proud  of  him." 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  165 

"Your  mother  ain't  folks.  She's  only  one 
people,  Sam." 

"Now  see  here,  Jack.  I  don't  want  no  more 
o'  your  sass  here  to-night." 

"Take  it  home  to  eat  on  your  pan-cakes,  Sam." 

"  I  have  somethin'  better  'n  pan-cakes  to  eat 
to  home." 

"Pan-cakes  is  cheap  fillin',  Sam,  and  your 
father  orter  keep  you  on  'em." 

"  Mam  says  they  ain't  good  brain  food,  and 
she  don't  make  'em." 

"What  do  you -think  of  this  idea  about  fish 
for  brain  food,  Ben?" 

"It's  a  humbug,  Zach.  Our  fishermen,  who 
have  little  else  to  eat,  haven't  brains  enough  to 
tell  when  their  feet  are  cold." 

"Mam  says  codfish  is  good  brain  food." 

"  What  does  your  father  say  about  it,  Sam  ? '' 

"  His  father  thinks  brains  orter  be  fed  on 
pertaters,  so  'twixt  'em  both  they  keep  Sam  on 
codfish  hash." 

"There's  wus  eatin'  than  codfish  hash,  Jack, 
and  some  famlys  in  Elton  knows  it." 

"They  say  they  just  live  on  it  up  to  Deacon 
Wellses." 


1 66  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Who  says  so,  Tom?" 

"  Bob  Crane  told  me.  The  old  Deacon  hired 
him  to  cut  wood  for  forty  cents  a  cord  and 
boarded.  He  could  stan'  the  forty  cents  for 
cuttin'  wood,  but  he  got  tired  livin'  on  codfish 
hash." 

"  I  should  think  the  Deacon's  wife  would 
want  something  better." 

"So  she  does;  but  Bob  says  every  time  she 
cooked  anything  else  the  Deacon  would  make  a 
fuss  about  it,  and  tell  her  hash  was  good  enough 
for  these  hard  times." 

"  That  explodes  your  fish  for  brain  food  theory, 
Zach.  Lige  Wells  has  been  raised  on  a  fish  diet, 
and  he  will  not  die  of  brain  fever." 

"Jim  was  raised  the  same  way,  and  he  has 
more  brains  than  a  dozen  ordinary  men." 

"  But  he  was  born  with  brains.  I  do  n't  claim 
that  fish  will  destroy  a  man's  brains." 

"  If  it  did,  Sam  Smith's  would  be  gone  long 
ago." 

"  And  you  'd  have  nothin'  for  the  fish  to  begin 
on,  Jack." 

"Come,  boys;  don't  be  personal.  A  little 
more  brains  wouldn't  hurt  either  of  you." 


/;/  the  Shoe  Shop.  167 

"  It  takes  an  eight-inch  hat  for  me,  Uncle 
Henry." 

"  Your  brains  is  like  the  rum  Deacon  Wells 
give  Jack  Blunt,  Sam.  They're  thinned  out 
with  water." 

"  Hold  on,  Jack.     You  mus  n't  be  impudent." 

"I  ain't  any  wus  than  Sam,  Uncle  Henry." 

"But  you  must  set  Sam  a  good  example, 
Jack." 

"If  I  do,  he  won't  toller  it.  He's  allers  fol- 
lerin'  his  big  nose." 

"Mam  says  all  the  great  men  has  big  noses. 
Our  minister's  got  a  picter  of  Washington 
Irvin'  and  his  friends,  and  they  all  has  big 
noses,  like  mine." 

"  So  does  the  great  men  in  Elton.  There  Js 
Deacon  Wells,  Tom  Siddons,  Lige  Wells  and 
Sam  Smith." 

"Your  own  nose  ain't  so  orful  small,  Dick." 

"  That 's  so,  Sam ;  but  it  ain't  big  enough  to 
take  me  in  with  you  great  men." 

"  There 's  another  dig  at  the  Lord's  hand 
writing,  Uncle  Henry." 

"  You  must  consider  what  He  has  to  write  on, 
Ben.  I  don't  claim  that  you  can  always  read 


1 68  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

a  man's  heart  by  looking  at  his  face,  but  it  is 
generally  a  very  good  index." 

"Sometimes  children  inherit  the  features  of 
one  parent  and  the  brains  of  the  other." 

".Not  often.  Look  at  the  Wells  family.  Lige 
has  the  features  and  even  less  brains  than  his 
father,  while  Jirn  has  the  features  and  brains  of 
his  mother." 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Wells,  but  if 
she  has  so  much  brain  I  should  think  she  might 
influence  her  husband." 

"  An  angel  could  n't  control  the  old  Deacon. 
She  submits  because  she  thinks  it  would  dis 
grace  her  children  if  she  should  leave  him." 

"She  can't  disgrace  Lige." 

"No;  but  she  thinks  the  world  of  Jim.1' 

"  Jim  wants  her  to  leave  the  old  Deacon,  and 
offered  to  provide  for  her,  I  'm  told." 

"  Yes.  He  wanted  her  to  go  when  he  left 
home;  but  she  thinks  it 's  her  duty  to  stay.  The 
Deacon  is  getting  worse  and  worse  every  year, 
and  she  will  either  go  to  Heaven  or  get  a  divorce 
before  long.  No  woman  can  stand  what  she 
does,  and  live  many  years." 

"  They  say  Lige  is  worse  than  the  old  man." 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  169 

"  I  guess  the  difference  between  them  is  like 
the  difference  between  Satan  and  the  devil. 
They  're  both  as  bad  as  they  can  be." 

"  If  I 's  her,  I  'd  pizen  their  coffee  and  send 
'em  home." 

"  There 's  no  place  for  them  to  go  to,  Dick. 
That  question  was  settled  last  winter." 

"  She  can't  pizen  their  coffee,  'cause  they 
don't  drink  none." 

"  What  do  they  drink?" 

"Warm  water,  sweeten'd  with  merlasses,  is 
their  reg'lar  drink,  but  they  have  buttermilk 
when  there  's  no  sale  for  it." 

"  They  say  the  Deacon  sends  all  the  batter  to 
Glenville  and  sells  it,  and  don't  leave  his^wife 
any  to  put  on  the  table." 

"  And  Lige  hides  all  the  eggs." 

"I  guess  't ain't  quite  so  bad  as  that,  boys." 

"  Bob  Crane  says  'tis,  and  he  orter  know." 

"  The  Deacon  and  Lige  is  wus  than  ever  sense 
Jim  left  home.  They  do  n't  give  Mis  Wells  a 
minit's  peace." 

"  How  do  they  do  when  quarterly  conference 
comes,  and  the  Deacon  has  company? "  9 

"They  do  n't  go  to  see  the  Deacon  no  more. 


I/O  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

He  's  so  crusty  every  time  his  wife  kills  a  pullet 
that  they  do  n't  want  to  go  and  see  him.  They 
git  better  grub  som'ers  else." 

"  Ain't  they  goiir  to  haul  the  Deacon  over  the 
coals  for  forgin'  that  deed?" 

"He  told  'em,  last  conference,  that  he  was 
ready  for  trial.  They  summoned  Bessie  Jones, 
and  she  would  n't  appear  agin  him.  She  said 
she  did  n't  want  to  mix  up  in  church  matters; 
but  mam  thinks  she's  goin'  to  git  marrid  to 
Jim,  and  that 's  why  she 's  so  shy  about  it." 

"  I  do  n't  blame  her  for  trying  to  keep  out  of 
a  quarrel;  but  seems  to  me  she  ought  to  go  and 
tell  what  she  knows  about  the  old  rascal." 

"  She  says  she  do  n't  know  who  signed  her 
name  to  that  deed,  Uncle  Henry.  She  has 
her  opinion  about  it,  but  her  opinion  isn't 
evidence." 

"  That 's  so,  Ben ;  but  I  guess  she  knows  who 
did  it." 

"Why  don't  they  summon  Jack  Blunt? 
He'll  tell." 

"They  was  goin'  to;  but  the  Deacon  told 'em 
they  couldn't  try  one  of  the  Lord's  anninted 
with  unbelievin'  witnesses,  and  the  minister 


/;/  the  Shoe  Shop.  17  [ 

agreed  with  him,  on  the  ground  that  it  wan't 
ScripteraL" 

"  Mam  says  she  do  n't  see  what  the  minister 
sticks  and  hangs  for  the  old  Deacon  so  hard  for. 
It 's  preslms  little  salary  he  pays." 

•'  Maybe  he  thinks  if  he  sticks  up  to  him  he  '11 
pay  more." 

The  entrance  of  Philip,  the  philosopher,  was 
the  signal  for  the  gossips  to  cease.  He  caught 
the  drift  of  the  conversation,  however,  and 
remarked: 

"That  is  uncharitable,  Torn.  It  is  very 
natural  for  a  pastor  to  consider  his  flock  inno 
cent,  and  if  he  really  believes  the  Deacon  is 
innocent  he  ought  to  stick  up  to  him,  regard 
less  of  the  amount  of  money  he  pays." 

"  But  he  can't  believe  him  innocent,  Philip,  if 
he  has  taken  any  trouble  to  investigate  his  case. 
Everybody  in  the  village,  who  heard  what  the 
evidence  was  before  the  court,  thinks  the  old 
rascal  is  guilty;  even  his  own  church  members." 

"Possibly  the  minister  has  not  investigated, 
Uncle  Henry.  Why  not  take  the  charitable 
view  of  it,  and  give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt?" 


172  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  That 's  right,  Phil.  I  Ve  no  doubt  the  min 
ister  knows  he  's  guilty,  and  I  'm  willin'  to  give 
him  the  benefit  of  it." 

"  I  spoke  to  Uncle  Henry,  Tom." 

"I  know  you  did;  but  I  answered  you,  Phil. 
Ain't  that  jest  as  well?" 

"  No.     I  wanted  his  opinion,  not  yours." 

"Well,  Philip,  it's  my  opinion  that  Deacon 
Wells  is  guilty,  and  the  minister  knows  it.  I 
don't  believe  Parson  Green  would  attempt  to 
shield  a  guilty  member  of  his  church." 

"I  know  he  wouldn't;  and  T  don't  believe 
Elder  Steele  would,  either.  Elder  Steele  is  a 
good  man,  and  I  honor  him  for  sticking  to  the 
Deacon  so  long  as  he  believes  him  innocent.  I 
wouldn't  give  a  snap  for  a  friend  that  would 
desert  me  simply  because  the  gossips  of  Elton 
pronounced  me  guilty;  and  you're  the  only 
man,  except  the  gossips,  that  I  have  heard 
express  an  opinion  about  Deacon  Wells'  guilt 
or  innocence,  Uncle  Henry." 

u Father  says  he's  guilty,  Phil,  and  he's  a 
member  of  his  church  in  good  standin'.  He 
says  he'd  believe  anything  Jack  Blunt  would 
say  about  the  old  Deacon." 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  173 

"  I  presume  there  are  many  better  men  than 
Jack  Blunt  or  Deacon  Wells;  but  I  am  not  pre 
pared  to  condemn  Elder  Steele  for  believing  the 
Deacon  innocent.  If  Deacon  Wells  is  guilt y, 
Elder  Steele  is  deceived/' 

"  You  have  more  charity  for  him  than  I, 
Philip.  I  do  n't  see  how  he  can  help  believ 
ing  him  guilty." 

"How  can  I  help  believing  him  guilty? 
Uncle  Henry  f 

"  Do  you  believe  him  innocent?" 

u  I  do  n't  know  what  to  believe.  The  law  pre 
sumes  that  every  man  is  innocent  until  his  guilt 
is  proved.  I  want  to  be  as  charitable  as  the 
law;  yet  I  do  not  consider  Deacon  Wells  an 
honest  man;  but  you  must  remember  that 
Elder  Steele,  during  his  short  stay  in  Elton, 
has  heard  comparatively  little  about  him,  and 
is  doubtless  deceived  in  regard  to  his  true  char 
acter.  What  I  object  to,  is  this  wholesale 
denunciation  of  Elder  Steele.'' 

"  I  never  see  you  at  his  church,  Phil." 

u  That  isn't  the  place  to  get  acquainted  with  a 
minister.  I  have  spent  several  evenings  in  his 
company,  and  have  learned  more  about  him  in  a 


174  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

single  evening  than  I  would  by  attending  his 
church  for  a  year." 

"  I  should  think  't  would  be  kinder  dry  goin' 
to  see  a  minister." 

"  That  depends  on  who  goes,  Dick.  My  most 
enjoyable  evenings  are  spent  with  Parson  Green 
and  Elder  Steele.  They  are  first  rate  fellows, 
and  I  always  feel  at  home  in  their  company." 

"  Ain't  they  allers  teasin'  you  about  religion? " 

"We  sometimes  talk  upon  religious  subjects; 
but  they  seldom  introduce  anything  of  the  kind. 
They  are  too  sensible  to  bore  their  visitors  with 
long  sermons." 

"  Do  n't  the  Bible  teach  that  a  minister  should 
labor  in  season  and  out  of  season,  Philip?" 

"Perhaps  it  does,  Uncle  Henry;  but  it  says 
nothing  about  what  he  shall  do  between  times, 
when  his  friends  call  in  to  spend  the  evening." 

"  There  ought  to  be  no  i  between  times '  in  a 

O 

minister's  life,  Philip." 

"  There 's  where  you  're  wrong,  Uncle  Henry. 
Parson  Green  has  accomplished  as  much  '  be 
tween  times'  as  in  the  pulpit.  His  social 
qualities  have  drawn  many  young  Eltonians 
into  the  fold.  Thev  could  not  be  reached  in 


In  the  Shoe  Shop.  175 

any  other  way,  and  the  Parson  knew  it.  He 
did  not  drive  tbem  from  him  by  constantly  talk 
ing  about  the  sin  that  is  in  the  world;  but 
entered  into  their  sports  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  school  boy.  More  than  half  of  the  young 
people  in  the  village  are  members  of  his  church.'1 

"Yes;  but  that  is  the  result  of  his  work  in 
the  pulpit." 

"  Nonsense,  Uncle  Henry.  He  might  have 
preached  'till  doomsday  without  converting 
them  if  they  had  not  loved  him.  He  has 
saved  as  many  souls  by  playing  base  ball  as 
in  any  other  way." 

"  Maybe  he  has,  Philip.  I  wish  he  could  get 
a  few  more.'1 

"  They  do  n't  play  base  ball." 

"  Some  of  us  does.  Ben  Love  and  Zach  Brown 
is  allers  playin'.  Why  do  n't  Parson  Green  git 
them?" 

ki  'Cause  Ben's  a  Methodist  and  Zach 's  a 
blacksmith.  They  're  too  heavy  for  one  man  to 
fetch , " 

"  Better  be  a  blacksmith  than  a  loafer,  Sam." 

"  There  ain't  but  little  odds,  and  the  loafer  gits 
what  little  there  is." 


1/6  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  You  ought  to  learn  a  trade,  Sain." 

"What  do  I  want  of  a  trade,  Phil?  Mam 
says  I  'm  goin'  to  collige  bimeby." 

''Your  mother  is  right,  Sam.  If  there  isn't 
enough  in  a  boy  to  make  a  mechanic  he  ought 
to  go  throng] i  college." 

"I  guess  there's  the  makin'  of  a  mechanic  in 
me,  Zach,  if  I  wanted  a  trade.  I  'd  ruther  be  a 
lawyer  or  somethin'." 

"  You  've  got  a  sure  thing  on  the  '  or  some 
thing,'  Sam,  and  you  'd  better  hang  to  it." 

"  That 's  what  mam  says." 

u  Every  boy  should  learn  a  trade,  either  before 
or  after  he  goes  through  college." 

"Why,  Phil?" 

"  Because,  no  boy  is  educated  until  he  knows 
how  to  earn  his  bread." 

"  Is  it  wise  for  a  boy,  who  is  trying  to  qualify 
himself  for  a  profession,  to  spend  three  or  four 
years  in  learning  a  trade  ? " 

"I  think  it  is,  Ben.  Three-fourths  of  our 
college  graduates  are  never  heard  from  after  they 
receive  their  diploma,  simply  because  they  have 
not  learned  to  work." 

"What  becomes  of  them?" 


hi  tJie  Shoe  Shop.  177 

"  They  choose  a  profession,  enter  the  lists  with 
mechanics  who  have  educated  themselves  by 
lamp-light,  and  fail.  After  a  disgraceful  fail 
ure  they  manage  to  get  a  clerkship,  or  some 
unimportant  position,  and  never  rise  above  it. 
It  is  better  to  be  a  good  mechanic  than  to  hang 
on  to  the  tail  end  of  a  profession." 

"That's  true;  but  I  don't  see  how  learning  a 
trade  helps  to  qualify  a  man  for  a  profession." 

"  It  's  good  discipline,  Ben.  They  have 
learned  to  work,  and  that's  half  the  battle. 
Our  most  successful  professional  men  are  me 
chanics,  who  entered  their  profession  with  a 
determination  to  succeed,  backed  up  by  a  good 
constitution  and  physical  strength,  attributable 
to  the  work-bench.  A  certain  kind  of  indepen 
dence  is  essential  if  a  man  would  succeed;  and 
no  man  is  independent  until  he  has  learned  a 
trade.'' 

"I  do  n't  want  no  trade.  Mam  says  I  '11  be  a 
ornamental  member  of  a  profeshun." 

'•  Your  mother  is  right,  Sam.  You  '11  never 
make  a  useful  member."' 

"  I  guess  I  '11  be  as  good  a  lawyer  or  somethin' 

as  you  are  blacksmith." 
12 


i/*8  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  You  'd  make  a  fust  rate  butcher,  Sam." 

«  Why,  Jack?" 

"  'Cause  you  'd  never  Lave  to  run  after  a  calf. 
They  'd  come  right  to  you.'' 

"  Come,  boys.  You  're  getting  too  personal 
again.  You  must  behave  yourselves." 

"  I  can't  learn  Sam  to  behave  hisself,  Uncle 
Henry." 

"You  commenced  on  Sam  this  time,  Moun 
tain.  I  was  listening." 

"  Was  I  sassy,  Uncle  Henry  ? " 

"  That's  what  they  used  to  call  it  when  I  was 
a  boy." 

"  But  't  ain't  fair  to  go  so  fur  back." 

"It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  all  you  boys  if 
you  had  to  go  back  a  generation  or  two.  We 
had  to  toe  the  mark  when  I  was  a  little  codger. 
'  Children  should  be  seen,  not  heard,'  was  the 
motto  in  the  good  old  days;  but  everything  has 
changed  for  the  worse,  'specially  boys." 

Uncle  Henry  notified  the  boys  that  he  was 
going  to  close  up.  He  put  out  the  light,  locked 
•lie  rickety  door,  and  went  home,  fully  impressed 
with  the  idea  that  "  everything  had  changed  for 
the  worse,  'specially  boys." 


CHAPTEE   VIII. 

RETRIBUTION. 

O  before  the  Grand  Jury  and  make  a  clean 

l^} 

J  breast  of  it,  Jack.  You  shall  not  be 
prosecuted." 

"On  them  terms  I'll  do  it,  Mr.  King.  The 
old  Deacon  hain't  treated  me  right,  and  Lige  had 
as  much  to  do  with  Kelly  goin'  crazy  as  any 
body.  I  do  n't  care  a  continental  cuss  if  they 
botli  git  into  the  penitenshary.  They'll  know 
how  to  treat  a  feller  when  they  come  out." 

"  The  Grand  Jury  will  meet  next  Monday. 
Shall  I  send  a  subpoena  for  you,  or  will  you 
appear  voluntarily?" 

"  Oh,  I  '11  make  a  volunteer  job  of  it,  and 
swear  from  July  to  dog  days,  if  you  want 
me  to." 

""What  is  the  ground  for  your  grievance, 
Jack?" 

"  I  Ve  got  ground  for  half  a  dozen  grievances 
(179; 


180  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

and  enough  for  a  big  pertater  patch  besides. 
He  's  lied  to  me  more  'n  a  thousand  times.  He 
promised  me  the  mill  on  the  Jones  place  if  I  'd 
apprize  it  for  one-third  of  what  it  were  wuth, 
and  then  when  I  done  his  dirty  work  he  backed 
down." 

"  So  you  appraised  the  place  for  one-third  its 
real  value,  did  you,  Jack?" 

"  Yes;  me  and  Tom  Siddons  done  it.  The  old 
Deacon  only  give  us  fifty  dollars  for  the  job. 
That 's  another  grievance  I  Ve  got  agin  him." 

"  Did  he  make  a  bargain  with  you  beforehand, 
and  tell  you  what  he  wanted  you  to  do?" 

"  Yes;  me  and  Tom  Siddons." 

"Where  does  Tom  Siddons  live?" 

"  Up  to  Sackarap." 

"Will  he  swear  that  the  Deacon  paid  him 
money  to  make  a  false  appraisement?" 

"He'll  swear  like  the  d — 1  agin  the  Deacon. 
The  old  cuss  cheated  him  out  of  his  best  cow." 

"How  did  he  do  it?" 

"  He  swapped  Tom  three  Sandy  Ridge  shoats 
for  Pole  and  China.  Tom  don't  know  no  more 
about  live  hogs  than  the  Deacon  does  about 
the  Scripter,  and  when  he  found  out  the  old  fel- 


Retribution.  181 

ler'd  cheated  him  he  was  orful  rothy,  and  lie 
ain't  got  over  it  jit." 

"  Then  the  Deacon  is  a  hard  customer?'' 

"Yes,  sir;  he's  a  hard  ticket.  He'd  do  well 
enough  up  to  Sackarap,  where  they  're  all  hard, 
but  he 's  a  orful  poor  stick  to  make  a  deacon  out 
of.  He's  consider'bly  sap  rotted." 

11 1  should  think  Elder  Steele  would  haul  him 
over  the  coals." 

"  Coals  wo  n't  have  no  effect  on  him.  He  can 
stan'  brimstone  and  niter  gli serin'.  lie  's  tough 
er 'n  a  blue- nosed  mule." 

"What's  a  blue-nosed  mule,  Jack?" 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"No,  sir;-  I  do  not." 

"  Well  that 's  sing'lar,  shure  enough.  You  're 
a  lawyer  and  do  n't  know  what  a  blue-nosed  mule 
is.  It 's  a  mule  raised  among  the  blue-noses  in 
the  Provinces,  Mr.  King." 

"  Sure  enough.     I  ought  to  have  known  that." 

"  I  s'pose  lawyers  can  't  learn  it  all,  but  they 
generally  know  most  everything." 

"  Has  the  Deacon  any  other  bad  habits  beside 
forging  deeds  and  cheating  his  neighbors  in  hog 
trades?" 


1 82  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Yes.     He  plays  cards  and  smuggles  rum." 

"Is  he  good  at  cards?" 

"  No,  sir;  he 's  bad  at  'em.  He  do  n't  play  no 
fair  game,  b'ut  Lige  has  got  so  he  can  beat  him 
playin'  ten  cent  ante." 

"  Does  Deacon  Wells  play  cards  with  his  own 
son?" 

"  "Not  any  more.  Lige  beat  him  out  of  half  a 
dollar  three  or  four  times,  hand  runnin',  and  the 
old  feller  won't  play  agin  him  sense." 

"  Who  does  he  play  with? " 

"  Them  Bangor  chaps." 

"  Does  Elder  Steele  know  that  he  plays  cards? " 

"  I  guess  not.  Nobody  but  Lige  and  me 
knowed  it  for  a  long  time.  When  he  went  back 
on  me  about  the  mill  I  told  some  of  the  boys, 
but  I  guess  they  kep  it  to  theirselves." 

O  «/  i 

"Does  he  smuggle  much  rum?" 

u  Not  so  much  late  years  as  he  used  to." 

"Where  does  he  land  it?" 

"  To  Bangor." 

"  How  did  you  find  out  that  he  smuggled  rum, 
Jack?" 

"He  got  sick  one  fall,  and  I  went  down  and 
got  it  for  him." 


Retribution.  183 

"Did  the  revenue  officers  disturb  him?" 

"•  One  of  'em  watched  him  purty  clost,  but  the 
Deacon  give  him  a  hoss  and  carridge,  and  he 
could  n't  see  nothin'  after'ards." 

u  Do  you  know  his  name?1' 

"Yes;  but  I  won't  tell,  and  he's  out  now, 
anyhow,  so  it  would  n't  do  you  no  good." 

"  All  right,  Jack.  I  'm  very  much  obliged  for 
what  you  have  told.  I  never  dreamed  that  Dea 
con  Wells  was  such  a  man  as  you  represent  him. 
I  supposed  this  forgery  was  his  first  offense,  and 
was  disposed  to  deal  leniently  with  him ;  but  I 
shall  prosecute  him  to  the  bitter  end,  now." 

"  Look  out  for  your  jury,  Mr.  King,  or  he  '11 
buy  'em  all  up  right  afore  your  face  and  eyes." 

"  I  "11  keep  a  sharp  look  out,  Jack.  Be  on 
hand  next  Monday." 

"  I  will." 

Jack  Blunt  appeared  before  the  Grand  Jury  at 
the  appointed  time,  and  told  all  he  knew  about 
the  forgery.  Bessie  Jones  was  an  unwilling  wit 
ness,  and  stated  that  she  did  not  sign  the  deed. 
This  was  all  she  knew  about  it.  Somebody  was 
guilty  of  forgery,  but  she  could  not  determine  in 
her  own  mind  who  was  the  guilty  party.  If  it 


184  A   Centiiry  of  Gossip. 

was  Deacon  Wells,  she  thought  he  had  been 
sufficiently  punished  by  making  restitution,  and 
if  consistent  with  the  ends  of  justice  she  pre 
ferred  that  the  matter  might  be  dropped.  So 
far  as  she  was  concerned  she  did  not  desire  to 
prosecute  him. 

The  Jury  looked  at  the  matter  in  a  different 
light,  and  found  a  true  bill  against  Hezekiah  and 
Elijah  Wells  on  the  testimony  of  Jack  Blunt. 
Jack's  evidence  was  conclusive.  He  told  his 
story  in  a  straightforward  manner,  detailing 
the  conversation  that  was  held  both  before  and 
after  signing  the  deed.  He  did  not  try  to  shield 
himself,  but  u  made  a  clean  breast  of  it."  He 
was  cross-examined  by  one  of  the  jurors,  but  the 
attempt  to  shake  his  evidence  simply  made  it 
stronger,  and  when  the  vote  was  taken  it  was 
unanimous. 

A  warrant  was  issued  for  the  arrest  of  the 
guilty  parties,  and  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
sheriff,  who  lost  no  time  in  serving  it.  Assisted 
by  his  deputy  he  made  the  arrest  when  the  Dea 
con  and  Elijah  were  at  the  dinner  table.  They 
submitted  quietly;  but  when  the  officers  pro 
duced  the  handcuffs,  Patience  Wells  begged 


"  She  plead  that  they  might  be  spared  this  indignity." 

—  PAGE  185. 


Retribution.  185 

them,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  desist,  assuring 
them  that  the  prisoners  would  go  with  them 
without  resistance.  She  forgot  their  cruelty, 
and  only  remembered  that  she  was  a  wife  and 
mother,  as  she  plead  that  they  might  be  spared 
this  indignity. 

"Dont  be  a  fool,  Patience.  "We '11  be  back 
to-morrer.  We  're  as  innersent  as  a  lamb,  ain't 
we,  Elijah  ? '' 

"  Yes,  mother;  we're  innersent  as  a  hull  flock 
of  sheep,  and  they  '11  find,  when  they  git  us  to 
Glenville,  that  they  've  ketched  the  wrong  pigs 
by  the  ears.'" 

The  kind  hearted  sheriff  pitied  the  sorrowing 
wife,  and  put  the  handcuffs  in  his  pocket.  He 
hurried  his  prisoners  off,  and  handcuffed  them 
as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  the  village.  By 
request  of  Deacon  Wells  the  sheriff  sent  word 
to  Esquire  Gray  to  come  immediately  to  Glen 
ville.  It  was  five  o'clock  when  the  party  drove 
up  to  the  jail.  Deacon  A\rells  was  surprised  to 
find  that  the  jailor  was  a  former  citizen  of  Elton. 

"  Well,  Deacon,  I  'm  sorry  to  number  you 
among  my  boarders;  but  I  suppose  you'll  be 
bailed  out  to-morrow/' 


1 86  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  be  bailed  out.  I  'd  ruther 
be  filled  up.  I  didn't  half  finish  my  dinner.'1 

"  I  '11  see  that  you  are  filled  up,  Elijah,  in  short 
order.  I  '11  have  your  supper  here  inside  of  ten 
minutes.1' 

"  I  s'pose  you  '11  let  us  out  to  eat,  Jesse? " 

"Can't  do  it,  Deacon.  I'm  sorry;  but  it's 
against  the  rules  to  take  a  prisoner  out  to 
meals." 

"  But  we  ain't  prisoners,  Jesse." 

"  You  are  for  the  time  being,  and  I  shall  have 
to  treat  you  as  I  do  the  others.  I  can  't  show 
any  partiality,  you  know.  They  'd  cut  my  head 
off  if  I  did." 

"  But  Elijah  and  me  is  innersent,  Jesse." 

"  I  hope  so,  Deacon,  and  if  you  are,  you  will 
have  no  trouble  in  proving  it;  so  you  won't  have 
long  to  stay,  even  if  you  ain't  bailed  out." 

"  We  don't  have  to  prove  our  innersence,  Jesse. 
They've  got  to  prove  we're  guilty,  and  they 
can  't  do  it.  Who  's  the  witnesses  agin  us? " 

"  I  believe  Jack  Blunt  is  the  principal  wit 
ness." 

"His  witnessin'  won't  amount  to  nothin', 
father.  Everybody  knows  he  's  a  orful  liar." 


Retribution.  187 

"  I  want  you  to  write  to  him,  Jesse.  Tell  him 
to  come  up  right  off.  Put  this  five  dollar  note 
in  to  pay  his  bill,  and  tell  him  I  ?m  orful  anxious 
to  see  him." 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  better  wait  a  day  or  two, 
Deacon.  You  may  be  bailed  out,  and  then  you 
can  see  him." 

"  Jesse 's  right,  father.  Jack  ?s  a  feller  that 's 
better  seen  than  writ  to." 

"So  he  is,  Elijah.  I'll  see  him  when  I  git 
out." 

"  You  do  n't  Aspect  us  to  sleep  in  here  all  night, 
do  you,  Jes.?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  have  to,  Elijah." 

"  I  do  n't  care  nothin'  for  myself,  but  it 's  hard 
on  dad." 

"  I  can  stan1  as  much  as  you  can,  Elijah." 

"  Can  you  give  a  feller  a  chaw  of  terbacker, 
Jes.?  I  left  mine  to  home." 

u  Here 's  some  genuine  James  river,  Elijah. 
You  can  keep  the  plug." 

"  Does  the  county  buy  your  terbacker,  Jes.  ? " 

"  !No.     Why  do  you  ask? " 

"  'Cause  I  thought  you  's  orful  free  with  it." 


1 88  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Tobacco  is  like  a  joke  in  shearin'  time,  you 
know,  Elijah;  free  to  all." 

"  I  'm  glad  that 's  one  of  your  rules,  Jes.,  for 
I  chaw  a  orful  sight." 

"  Do  you  chew,  Deacon?" 

"Jest  a  little,  Jesse;  but  you  needn't  mind 
me.  I  can  borry  from  Elijah." 

"  All  right.     I  '11  go  and  bring  in  your  supper." 

"  Bring  enough  of  it,  Jes. ;  and  I  guess  you  'd 
better  bring  a  pack  of  cards.  Maybe  dad  '11  be 
lonesome." 

"You  know  I  don't  b'leve  in  playin'  cards, 
Elijah." 

''I  know;  but  maybs  you'll  git  tired  doin' 
nothin'  and  will  play  jest  to  make  the  time  seem 
shorter." 

"  I  '11  bring  them,  Deacon,  and  you  can  do  as 
you  choose  about  playing." 

"Jest  as  you  're  mind  to,  Jesse." 

The  cards  were  brought,  but  the  Deacon  would 
not  play.  He  did  not  feel  like  indulging  in  a 
game  of  draw  poker  on  his  first  evening  in  jail. 
He  did  not  fear  the  result  of  the  trial;  but  he 
trembled  as  he  thought  of  what  the  public  would 


Retribution.  189 

say.  He  passed  a  sleepless  night,  and  waited 
anxiously  for  Esquire  Gray  to  call  next  day. 
Elijah  slept  as  soundly  as  any  of  the  hardened 
criminals  by  whom  he  was  surrounded.  He  did 
not  realize  his  danger,  and  he  passed  the  morn 
ing  in  playing  cards  with  one  of  his  fellow  pris 
oners.  About  noon  Esquire  Gray  was  ushered 
in  by  the  accommodating  jailor. 

"  Hello,  Deacon;  they've  got  you  in  limbo, 
have  they?" 

"Got  me  in  jail,  you'd  better  say,  'Squire; 
and  I  want  to  git  out." 

"  All  right.  I  '11  bail  you  out,  but  you  must 
deed  me  enough  of  your  property  to  secure  me." 
•  "Secure  you  agin  what?" 

"  Against  your  failure  to  appear  for  trial." 

"  I  '11  be  shure  to  appear." 

"I  presume  you  will;  but  we  lawyers  always 
take  property  as  a  mere  matter  of  form,  and 
deed  it  back  when  the  trial  is  over." 

u  What  property  do  you  want  me  to  deed 
you?" 

"Your  home  place,  the  Bently  farm,  the 
township  of  timber  land  and  the  old  Smith 
farm." 


I9°  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Had  n't  you  better  take  all  I  Ve  got? " 

"  I  shall  deed  it  all  back  if  you  stand  your 
trial,  so  what  difference  does  it  make  about  the 
amount?" 

"All  right,  'Squire.  Draw  up  your  deed  as 
soon  as  you  can.  I  want  to  git  out." 

The  deed  was  executed  and  the  Deacon  and 
Elijah  liberated.  The  crafty  lawyer  placed  the 
deed  in  the  pocket  of  his  great  coat,  with  a  twin 
kle  in  his  snake-like  eye  that  augured  mischief. 
It  was  a  «  mere  matter  of  form  "  that  was  destined 
to  cause  serious  inconvenience  to  Deacon  Wells. 

"  Well,  Patience,  we  're  back  agin  jest  as  I 
told  you,  and  you  look  as  if  you  'd  been  cryin' 
for  a  fortni't." 

"Is  it  all  over?  Are  you  clear  of  the 
charge?" 

"We  hain't  had  our  trial;  but  it  will  be  a 
mere  matter  of  form,  as  'Squire  Gray  says. 
We'll  be  cleared  easy  enough  when  the  trial 
comes  off." 

"I  hope  so.v 

"  I  know  so,  Patience,  and  that  orter  satisfy 
any  reasonable  woman;  but  there's  no  satisfyin' 
wirnrnin;  is  there,  Elijah?" 


Retribution.  191 

"No,  father;  wimmin  is  wimmin,  and  you 
can't  make  men  of  'em,  no  how/' 

"  Hurry  up  and  git  supper,  Patience.  I  must 
go  and  see  Jack  Blunt.  He  's  the  witness  agin 
us." 

"  What  are  you  charged  with,  Deacon?  " 

"  We  ain't  charged  with  anything,  Patience." 

"  What  were  you  arrested  for?  I  was  so  ex 
cited,  yesterday,  that  I  didn't  ask." 

"For  forgin'  a  deed;  and  we  never  done  it. 
Bessie  Jones  signed  that  deed  her  own  self,  and 
Jack  Blunt  will  swear  to  it." 

"  Will  Bessie  Jones  swear  that  she  did  n't 
sign  it?" 

"  I  s'pose  so;  but  no  jury  orter  take  a  woman's 
swear  agin  a  man's;  and  Jack  Blunt 's  a  Justice 
of  the  Peace." 

Patience  Wells  knew  thai:  an  intelligent  jury 
would  believe  Bessie  Jones,  and  she  felt  that 
James1  prophecy  would  be  fulfilled.  How  dis 
tinctly  jhe  remembered  his  words:  "  Your  avar 
ice  will  lead  you  to  a  fellon's  cell,  and  your 
ill-gotten  wealth  will  not  unlock  its  door.'' 
Her  life  had  indeed  been  full  of  sorrow,  but 
the  most  poignant  grief  awaited  her.  How 


I92  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

gladly  she  would  rest;  yet  the  Angel  of  Death 
cruelly  passed  her  by. 

"  Good  evenin',  Jack.     Is  nobody  'round?  " 

"  You  know  there 's  nobody  here  but  me. 
You  know  Nelly  is  in  the  crazy  hospittle." 

u  That  >s  all  the  better,  for  I  want  a  little  talk 
with  you.  What  made  you  swear  agin  Elijah 
and  me  afore  the  Gran'  Jury?  " 

"  'Cause  I  had  to." 

"  Now  I  've  a  propersishun  to  make." 

"Les  hear  it." 

u  I  will  give  you  fifty  dollars  to  swear  afore 
the  court  that  Bessie  Jones  signed  that  deed." 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Deacon.     I  've  quit  lyin'." 

"  Then  I  '11  give  you  a  hundred  to  go  down  to 
the  Provinces  and  keep  hid  'till  after  the  trial." 

"  Can't  do  it,  Deacon.  Mr.  King  would  send 
for  me.  He  knows  the  ropes." 

"  Then  you  're  goin'  to  swear  agin'  us  at 
court?" 

'*  I  s'pose  so." 

"  If  you  do  I  '11  send  you  to  the  penitenshary 
for  smuggiin'  rum,  forgin'  that  acknoligment, 
and  false  apprisin'  the  Jones  place." 

"  Scoot  ahead,  Deacon.     I  ain't  a  carin'  what 


Retribution.  193 

becomes  of  me.  What  have  I  got  to  live  for? 
I  M  willingly  go  to  prison  for  the  sake  of  seein' 
you  and  Lige  there.  He  was  the  cause  of  JS"elly 
goin1  crazy,  and  I  '11  have  my  revenge,  anyhow." 

"  Hain't  I  allers  treated  you  like  a  man, 
Jack?" 

"  No.  You  promised  me  the  mill  to  run,  and 
backed  out.  You  kep  me  doin'  dirty  work  on 
preshus  little  pay." 

"  I  '11  give  you  the  mill  to  run  after  the  trial 's 
over,  if  you  '11  go  away  and  not  swear  agin  us." 

"  Once  a  liar,  allers  a  liar,  is  my  motto,  Dea 
con.  I  shan't  trust  you  no  more." 

a  All  right,  Jack.  You  swear  agin  us  and 
I'll  make  you  smart  for  it;  that 'sail.1' 

"  I  'm  smart  enough  now  to  send  you  and 
Lige  up,  and  I'll  do  it." 

"  I  '11  git  'Squire  Gray  to  have  your  com- 
rnishun  took  back.1' 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,  Deacon.  I'll  quit 
and  come  up  to  prison  to  hecter  you  and  Lige." 

Deacon  Wells  went  home  to  "  make  Patience 
smart."  The  cowardly  villain  had  a  way  of 
making  his  wife  particularly  uncomfortable 

when  any  of  his  plans  were  frustrated. 
13 


194  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  What  did  Jack  say,  Deacon? " 

"  It  's  none  of  your  bizness  what  he  said.  It  's 
strange  that  wimmin  can't  mind  their  own  biz- 
ness  and  stop  meddlin'  with  other  people." 

And  Patience  resolved  to  "mind  her  own 
business." 

'Squire  Gray  was  not  an  attorney;  he  was 
simply  a  pettifogger,  and  when  Deacon  Wells 
asked  him  to  see  Jack  Bhmt  he  readily  assented 
but  his  influence  was  exerted  for  the  prosecution, 
and  he  only  confirmed  Jack  in  his  resolution  to 
appear  against  the  Deacon.  He  wanted  his 
client  convicted;  not  that  the  ends  of  justice 
might  be  subserved,  but  he  had  that  "mere 
matter  of  form "  safely  deposited  in  his  side 
pocket,  where  it  often  came  in  contact  with  an 
itching  palm.  He  persuaded  the 'Deacon  that 
additional  counsel  would  be  an  unnecessary 
expense  without  corresponding  benefit.  In 
this,  however,  he  was  right,  for  all  the  attor 
neys  in  the  State  could  not  have  saved  the 
Deacon  from  the  penalty  of  his  crime. 


"  Put  up  a  lunch  for  me  and  Elijah,  Patience, 


Retribution .  195 

and  be  in  a  hurry  about  it.  We  must  go  to 
court  to-day." 

"  Put  in  some  biled  aigs  for  me,  mother." 

"  There  are  no  eggs  in  the  house,  Elijah, 
You  sold  them  all,  on  Saturday." 

"Can't  you  bony  a  few  from  Mis  Craig?  A 
lunch  with  no  biled  aigs  in  it  ain't  wuth  eatin', 
'cordin'  to  my  noshun." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  her." 

"  Let  Elijah  go,  Patience.  You  '11  fool  'round 
talkin'  with  Mis  Craig  'till  we'll  be  late." 

"  So  she  will.     I  '11  go  myself,  father." 

"  Git  your  water  hot  and  bile  'em  in  a  hurry 
when  Elijah  gits  back.  Come;  fly  'round." 

"The  water  is  hot,  and  I  won't  detain  you, 
Deacon.  Have  you  employed  any  one  to  assist 
Mr.  Gray  in  your  defense? " 

"  No.  He  says  't  would  be  money  throwed 
away,  and  I  know  he's  enough  for  any  on 
'em." 

"  I  wish  you  would  get  Mr.  Ainsworth  to  help 
him." 

"You're  a  fool,  Patience,  and  don't  know 
nothin'  about  law.  I  wish  you'd  mind  your 
own  bizness  and  not  meddle  so  much." 


196  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

Patience  regretted  that  she  had  not  adhered  to 
her  resolution  to  "  mind  her  own  business.3' 

Deacon  Wells  and  Elijah  entered  the  court 
room  as  the  Judge  was  calling  the  docket. 
After  the  usual  delay  in  impanneling  the  jury, 
the  State  called  Bessie  Jones  and  Jack  Blunt. 
Their  testimony  was  the  same  as  given  before 
the  Grand  Jury,  and  the  witnesses  for  the 
defense  were  sworn.  Elder  Steele  testified 
that,  "  so  far  as  he  knew  Deacon  Wells,  he 
was  an  upright  man  and  a  Christian."  Two 
or  three  members  of  the  church  also  testified  to 
the  Deacon's  good  character;  but  when  Brother 
Smith  was  called  to  the  stand  he  remembered 
"that  hoss  trade,"  and  he  swore,  positively,  that 
"  he  had  knowed  Deacon  Wells  for  nigh  onto 
twenty  year,  and  he  didn't  believe  he  had  an 
honest  hair  in  his  head,  except  the  wig  he 
bought  to  Bangor." 

Some  of  the  jurors  were  acquainted  with  the 
Deacon,  and  they  agreed  with  Brother  Smith. 
Jack  Blunt's  testimony  was  convincing.  The 
Judge's  charge  was  impartial,  but  he  gave  the 
impression  that  little  doubt  existed,  in  his  mind, 
as  to  the  guilt  of  the  accused.  The  jury  retired 


Retribution.  197 

in  charge  of  a  bailiff,  and  returned  in  twenty 
minutes  with  a  verdict  of  "guilty." 

The  prisoners  were  remanded  to  the  county 
jail,  a  motion  for  a  re-hearing  overruled,  and  on 
the  following  day  they  were  sentenced  by  the 
Judge.  The  Deacon  was  shocked  when  the 
Judge,  after  a  moral  lecture,  sentenced  him  to 
"  seven  years'  confinement  in  the  penitentiary." 
For  the  first  time,  since  the  commencement  of 
the  trial,  he  realized  that  "  the  way  of  the  trans 
gressor  is  hard."  Broken  in  spirit,  and  weeping 
as  only  the  guilty  can  weep,  he  left  the  court 
room,  assisted  by  a  bailiff. 

The  Judge  wisely  considered  Elijah's  birth 
and  surroundings,  and  sentenced  him  to  four 
years'  imprisonment.  This  was  a  lighter  pen 
alty  than  he  hoped  for,  after  his  father's  sentence, 
and  he  looked  rather  pleased,  than  otherwise, 
when  the  judgment  was  pronounced.  He  went 
to  the  jail  with  a  firm  step,  requesting  the  jailor 
to  give  him  a  good  dinner,  as  he  was  "orful 
hungry." 

"Well,  father,  them  four  aces  was  beat  bad, 
wasn't  they?" 


A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Yes;  Jack  Blunt  beat  'em,  and  I  '11  git  even 
with  him  yit." 

"  I  Ve  got  a  year  for  every  ace,  and  I  wish 
Jack  Blunt  had  the  pot." 

"  I  '11  give  him  a  wus  pot  than  you  Ve  got, 
Elijah.  I'll  send  him  up  for  smugglin'  rum. 
I  '11  learn  him  better  'n  to  swear  agin  me." 

In  due  time  the  Sheriff  took  the  prisoners  to 
Thomaston,  to  work  for  the  Commonwealth. 
When  the  prison  garb  was  produced,  the  Dea 
con  kindly  offered  to  ubuy  his  own  close,"  a 
proposition  which  was  promptly  rejected  by  the 
official.  Elijah  protested.  He  said  his  father 
was  "  innersent  as  a  sheep,  and  a  deacon  in  good 
standing  and  them  close  wouldn't  look  well  on 
him."  The  obliging  official  informed  him  that 
his  father  might  wear  the  clothes  as  a  badge  of 
innocence,  if  he  chose;  but  he  must  put  on  the 
regulation  suit. 


Six  months  have  passed  since  Deacon  Wells 
and  Elijah  entered  upon  the  life  for  which  they 
are  so  eminently  fitted.  James  has  returned 


Retribution.  199 

from  Washington,  and  is  busy  with  profes 
sional  cares.  He  has  induced  his  mother  to 
take  charge  of  his  new  house,  and  they  are 
living  cosily  together,  'though  both  feel  keenly 
the  disgrace  that  has  come  through  the  conduct 
of  the  Deacon  and  Elijah.  The  world  is  not 
ready  for  an  unqualified  indorsement  of  the 
wholesome  adage,  "  A  man  can  disgrace  only 
himself." 

James  has  a  great  deal  of  "  business  at  Ber 
wick,11  and  he  spends  as  many  pleasant  hours 
with  Bessie  Jones  as  his  busy  life  will  permit. 
She  is  enjoying  her  vacation,  and  is  trying  to 
master  Greek.  Harry  tells  her  she  has  "  mas 
tered  a  Congressman,11  and  her  ambition  should 
be  satisfied. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    ABUSE    OF    THE    PARDONING    POWER. 

,  DEACON,  I  got  your  letter,  and 
here  I  am." 

"You've   been  a   good    wile  comin', 
'Squire.1' 

"  I  was  detained  by  a  perplexing  lawsuit." 
"Law   suits   is   most   allers   perplexin,'  ain't 
they?     Leastwise,  mine  has  been." 

"They  usually  perplex  the  client  more  than 
the  attorney,  but  mine  was  perplexing  to  both." 
"What   was   the  matter?     Hadn't  the  feller 
nothin'  to  pay  fees  with? " 

"I    was   both    client   and   attorney,    Deacon. 
There  was  no  fee  in  the  case." 

"I  s'pose  you  hain't  no  appertite  for  lawin' 
without  money,  have  you,  'Squire?" 
"Not  much,  Elijah." 

"  Stop  your  foolin',  Elijah,  and  let  'Squire  and 
me  git  to  bizness." 


The  Abuse  of  the  Pardoning  Power.    201 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Deacon? " 
"The  AVarden  says  you  can  see  the  Gov'ner 
and  git  me  and  Elijah  pardoned  out  o'  here." 
"That's  easier  said  than  done,  Deacon.1' 
"  It 's  the  same  Gov'ner  that  appinted  Jack 
Blunt,  ain't  it?" 

"  Yes;  he's  on  his  third  term  now.'1 
"Then  you  can  fetch  him.     'T ain't  no  more 
work   to   pardon   me   and   Elijah   than   'tis   to 
appint  a  justice,  'specially  such  a  one  as  Jack 
Blunt." 

"But  the  Governor  don't  like  to  take  the 
responsibility  of  exercising  the  pardoning 
power,  and  it  will  cost  me  a  great  deal  of 
money  to  get  you  pardoned." 

"  How  much  will  you  have  to  pay  him?  " 
"  I  won't  have  to  pay  the  Governor  anything. 
He's  an  honest  man,  and  I  wouldn't  dare  to 
offer  him  a  bribe;  but  I  '11  have  to  get  the  jury, 
the  Judge,  and  the  court  officers  to  sign  a  peti 
tion  for  your  pardon,  and  that  will  take  a  great 
deal  of  time  and  money.     I  '11  make  you  a  pro 
position,  Deacon." 
"  Les  heer  it." 
"  I  '11   undertake    your   case,   spend    my  own 


202  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

money,  and  if  I  fail  it  will  be  my  loss;  if  I 
succeed  I  will  keep  the  Bently  farm,  the 
township  of  timber  land,  and  the  old  Smith 
farm,  and  I  will  deed  you  back  your  home 
place." 

"That's  a  orful  propersishun,  'Squire.  The 
property  is  wuth  thirty  thousand  dollars.  We  'd 
better  stay  our  time  out  and  have  somethin' 
when  we  do  git  out." 

"  That  may  do  for  you,  Elijah,  for  you  Ve  only 
three  years  and  a  half  to  stay;  but  your  father 
has  six  years  and  a  half,  and  that,  in  this  place, 
will  be  equivalent  to  his  life  time." 

"  If  he  's  goin'  to  die  poor,  he  might  as  well 
die  here  as  anywhere.'! 

"  So  I  had,  Elijah.     I  '11  never  give  it." 

"All  right,  Deacon.  I'll  bid  you  good  day. 
Stay  here  six  months  longer  and  you  '11  be  glad 
to  come  to  my  terms." 

"Hold  on,  'Squire.  I'll  give  you  the  old 
Smith  farm." 


,  sir." 


"I'll  give  you  the  old  Smith  farm  and  the 
Bently  farm.1' 

"Don't  do  it,  father.     They're  wuth  five  or 


The  Abuse  of  the  Pardoning  Power.    203 

six  thousand  dollars,  and  a  thousand  dollars  a 
year  is  big  pay  for  stayin'  here." 

"  I  can  make  that  much  speckerlatin'  if  I 's 
out  o'  here." 

"  All  right,  'Squire.     Dad  '11  let  'em  go." 

"But  I  can't  take  them,  Elijah.  I  shall 
adhere  to  my  first  proposition/' 

"  I  won't  give  it,  'Squire." 

"All  right.  Good  day.  Let  me  hear  from 
you  when  you  want  to  get  out." 

The  avaricious  pettifogger  went  home*  and 
drew  up  a  petition  for  the  pardon  of  Hezekiah 
and  Elijah  Wells.  He  secured  the  signatures  of 
the  jurors  by  appealing  to  their  sympathy  for 
Mrs.  Wells.  He  found  it  more  difficult  to  get 
the  names  of  the  court  officers  and  members  of 
the  bar,  but  finally  succeeded  in  procuring  a 
majority  of  them  by  a  free  utterance  of  the 
magical  name  of  James  Wells.  James  was 
deservedly  popular  with  them,  and  the  unscru 
pulous  apology  for  a  lawyer  took  advantage  of 
this,  in  order  to  further  his  interest.  James 
knew  nothing  about  the  proceedings,  and 
Esquire  Gray  used  his  name  without  authority. 
He  had  Deacon  Wells  in  his  power,  and  if  he 


2O4  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

could  not  secure  the  valuable  timber  land  he 
would  take  the  farms;  but  he  "calculated"  that 
the  old  Deacon  would  accept  his  proposition,  and 
he  was  not  mistaken.  His  papers  were  barely 
perfected  when  a  letter  was  received  from  Dea 
con  Wells  stating  that  he  "  would  take  the 
propersishun,  but  it  was  orful  hard.  Elijah 
did  n't  want  him  to  do  it,  but  he  could  n't 
stay  there  no  longer/1  Esquire  Gray  wrote  an 
agreement,  visited  the  prison,  procured  the 
Deacon's  signature,  and  then  went  to  see  the 
Governor. 


"  Good   morning,    Governor." 

"  Good  morning,  Esquire  Gray.  How  do 
you  do?" 

"  Well,  I  thank  you." 

"  I  'm  really  glad  to  see  you.     Take  a  seat." 

"Are  you  at  leisure  this  morning?" 

"  I  am  to  meet  some  friends  from  Portland  at 
eleven  o'clock.  I  shall  be  at  leisure  until  that 
hour.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 

a  Yes,  sir.  I  have  a  petition  here  for  the 
pardon  of  Deacon  Wells  and  his  son,  Elijah." 


The  Abuse  of  the  Pardoning  Power.    205 

"  Deacon  Wells  is  the  father  of  Congressman 
Wells,  is  he  not?" 
"Yes,  sir." 
"The    penitentiary    is    an    odd    place   for  a 

deacon." 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  he  is  an  odd  kind  of  a  deacon, 
although  his  punishment  was  altogether  too 
severe." 

"  I  have  almost  forgotten  the  circumstances. 
I  believe  he  was  convicted  on  a  charge  of 
forgery? " 

u  Yes,  sir;  for  forging  a  deed.  He  had  pur 
chased  the  property  at  Sheriff's  sale,  but  no 
notice  had  been  served  on  one  of  the  heirs, 
and  the  Deacon  signed  her  name  to  the  deed. 
He  is  a  very  ignorant  man,  and  did  not  realize 
the  magnitude  of  the  crime." 

"How  does  it  come  that  his  son  is  so  bright? 
He  has  made  a  good  record  in  Congress." 

"  He  takes  alter  his  mother." 

"  How  is  the  other  son?  " 

"He  knows  even  less  than  his  father.  He 
was  considered  the  greatest  dunce  in  the 
village." 


2o6  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

"Did  James  Wells  speak  of  visiting  me  in 
the  interest  of  his  father?" 

"No,  sir.  He  thought  I  had  better  come. 
He  feels  a  little  hesitancy  about  asking  a  favor 
of  you.  You  know  he  supported  your  opponent 
for  the  nomination.  He  spoke  of  you  in  flatter 
ing  terms;  but  John  Yale  was  an  old  college 
mate  of  Jim's,  and  he  had  to  support  him.  We 
took  a  sharp  tilt  at  each  other  on  your  account, 
and  it  created  a  little  feeling  between  us;  but 
it 's  all  over  now.  Jim  has  a  great  deal  of 
influence  in  our  part  of  the  State,  and  by  grant 
ing  this  pardon  you  will  make  him  your  fast 
friend." 

"  I  thought  there  was  a  little  feeling  between 
you  after  the  Congressional  Convention  had 
adjourned?" 

"  Oh,  no.  There  Js  no  truth  in  the  report  that 
I  didn't  support  him.  I  voted  for  him." 

"  I  never  heard  that  you  did  n't  vote  for  him. 
I  was  told  that  a  little  feeling  existed  after  the 
nomination." 

"  I  suppose  every  man  feels  a  little  sore  after 
a  defeat;  but  Jim  and  1  are  all  right  now." 


The  Abuse  of  the  Pardoning1  Power.    207 

"  That 's  right,  Esquire.  There  's  nothing  like 
pulling  together  in  the  harness." 

"  You  '11  find  us  ready  to  pull  together  when 
you  want  our  services,  Governor/' 

"  Thank  you.  I  always  look  for  a  good  report 
from  your  town,  Esquire." 

"  In  future,  as  in  the  past,  you  will  find  me 
ready  to  work  for  my  friends,  Governor/' 

"  How  does  everything  look  down  there  this 
year?" 

"Yery  flattering,  indeed.  We  are  all  wide 
awake,  and  will  roll  up  a  larger  majority  for  you 
than  ever." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  for  I  shall  need  all  the 
votes  I  can  get.  The  opposition  are  giving  me 
a  hard  fight  this  year." 

"  I  know  it 's  an  i  off  year,'  but  you  need  not 
fear  the  result." 

"  They  are  trying  to  force  me  to  take  a  posi 
tion  on  the  question  of  Free  Trade." 

"Why  don't  you  do  it?  Free  Trade  is  popu 
lar  with  us,  and  you  would  gain  largely  by 
declaring  in  favor  of  it." 

"  But  there  are  conflicting  interests.  The  ship 
builders  in  your  locality,  as  elsewhere,  favor 


208  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

Free  Trade,  while  our  manufacturers  demand 
protection." 

"  I  did  n't  think  of  that.  Can't  you  perform 
the  great  political  two-horse  act?" 

"  That  will  do  in  National,  but  not  in  State 
politics." 

"  Have  you  determined  what  you  will  do  if 
the  opposition  press  the  question?" 

"  I  think  I  shall  dodge  it.  I  can  take  the 
ground  that  mine  is  simply  an  executive  office, 
and  it  is  not  my  province  to  make  laws." 

"  That 's  the  doctrine,  Governor." 

"  I  think  so.  It  's  the  only  safe  ground  for  me 
to  occupy  in  this  canvass." 

"  It  will  take  you  through  all  right,  Governor." 

"I  hope  so.  But  we  must  get  through  with 
our  business.  It 's  almost  eleven." 

"  Here  is  the  petition." 

"  How  long  have  they  been  in  prison  ? " 

"About  seven  months." 

"  What  is  their  sentence? " 

"The  Deacon's  is  seven  years  and  Elijah's 
four." 

16  They  must  stay  a  while  longer,  Esquire.  It 
will  never  do  to  pardon  them  so  soon." 


The  Abuse  of  the  Pardoning  Power.    209 

"  Seven  months,  in  the  penitentiary,  is  a  long 
time,  Governor/' 

"So  it  is;  but  we  are  on  the  eve  of  an  elec 
tion,  and  the  papers  have  made  a  great  fuss 
about  what  they  are  pleased  to  term  the  abuse 
of  the  pardoning  power.'' 

"The  election  will  be  over  in  three  weeks. 
Can  I  give  them  the  assurance  that  they  will  be 
pardoned  as  soon  as  you  have  time  to  examine 
the  papers?" 

"  I  want  to  oblige  you,  Esquire;  but  the  news 
papers  will  give  me  a  fearful  lashing  if  I  pardon 
them  so  soon." 

"There  are  no  papers  in  Elton." 

"  I  know  it;  but  there  are  a  great  many  in  the 
immediate  vicinity." 

"  Not  many." 

"  There  are  two  at  Glen vi lie,  two  at  Selridge, 
one  at  Melton,  and  one  at  Berwick." 

"  They  are  all  in  Jim  Wells'  district,  and  I 
will  get  the  publishers  to  sign  this  petition. 
That  will  spike  their  guns." 

"  Can  you  get  the  opposition  publishers  to 
sign  it?" 

"  I  think  I  can.     They  are  all  very  friendly  to 


2io  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

Jim,  and  I  will  work  up  a  sympathy  for  Mrs. 
Wells  that  will  induce  them  to  sign  it.11 

"Newspaper  publishers  are  not  the  most 
sympathetic  men  in  the  world." 

"  They  are  all  right  outside  of  politics,  Gov 
ernor;  and  if  you'll  agree  to  pardon  my  clients 
immediately  after  the  election  on  condition  that 
I  get  the  signatures  of  the  publishers  to  this 
petition,  I  will  rest  easy." 

"  All  right.     I  '11  do  it." 

"  Good  bye,  Governor." 

"  Good  bye,  Mr.  Gray.  Keep  up  my  end  of 
the  string  in  Elton." 

"We'll  give  you  a  majority  that  will  make 
you  feel  proud  of  us,  Governor." 


"Well,  'Squire,  did  you  see  the  Gov'ner?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Have  you  got  our  pardon  in  your  pocket?" 

"No,  Deacon;  but  I  think  I  'm  in  a  fair  wajr 
to  get  it.  I  'm  bringing  all  the  influences  that  I 
can  command  to  bear  on  the  Governor.  The 
papers  have  been  pitching  into  him  for  abusing 
the  pardoning  power,  lately,  and  I  must  get  the 


The  Abuse  of  the  Pardoning  Power.    211 

newspaper  men  of  Glenville,  Selridge,  Melton, 
and  Berwick  to  sign  your  petition  in  order  to 
stop  their  clack." 

"  S'posin'  they  won't  do  it? " 

"Then  I  can't  get  you  pardoned." 

"  Seems  to  me  •  t  is  a  queer  noshun  for  a  feller's 
pardon  to  depend  on  them  newspaper  chaps." 

"  There  's  where  it  hinges.  How  many  of  the 
papers  did  you  take?" 

"  I  did  n't  take  none  of  'em.  Me  and  Elijah 
don't  b'leve  in  newspapers,  and  Jim  and 
Patience  used  to  borry  their 'n." 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  any  of  the  editors? " 

"  I  know  the  edytur  of  the  Glenville  Hanner. 
Me  and  him  had  a  spat  after  Jim  was  nominated 
for  a  Congressman.  He  's  a  little  mite  of  a  cuss 
with  a  big  forrid,  and  sassy er  'n  blazers." 

"  I  '11  have  a  hard  time  of  it  with  him, 
Deacon." 

"  Do  n't  tell  him  the  petishun  is  for  me, 
'Squire.  Git  him  to  sign  it  without  lookin' 
at  it." 

"  Editors  do  n't  sign  papers  that  way,  Deacon. 
He's  a  great  friend  of  Jim's.  Perhaps  I  can 
get  him  to  sign  it  for  that  reason." 


212  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Do  n't  let  Jim  know  what  you  're  up  to,  or 
he  '11  spile  your  little  game,  'Squire." 

"  I  '11  keep  mum  so  far  as  he 's  concerned, 
Elijah." 

"  For  my  part  I  ain't  a  carin'  wether  they  sign 
the  petishun  or  not.  If  they  do  n't,  we  '11  save 
the  land,  and  if  I 's  dad  I  'd  stick  it  out  afore  I  'cl 
pay  such  a  dredful  price  to  git  out  o'  here.  You 
ask  a  good  deal  more'n  'tis  wuth  to  do  the 
work,  'Squire." 

"  You  have  no  adequate  idea  of  the  magnitude 
of  the  undertaking,  Elijah." 

"Hain't  no  what?" 

"  No  idea  of  the  work." 

"That's  right.     Put  it  in  English  and  I  can 
understand    what   you  're   talkin'    about;    but  I 
could  do  the  work  in  a  week  and  cut  the  fire 
wood  in  the  bargin." 

"  You  could  n't  do  it  in  a  life-time,  Elijah." 

"  If  it  wan't  for  dad  you  would  n't  git  the  job, 
'Squire.  How  much  of  the  timber  land  will 
you  take  to  git  dad  out  and  let -me  stay?  " 

"  It  is  the  same  labor  to  get  one  out  as  both." 

"I  don't  see  how  that  comes." 

"That's  because  you  don't  understand  it." 


The  Abuse  of  the  Pardoning  Power.    213 

"The  papers  is  signed,  Elijah,  and  'tis  too 
late  to  make  a  fuss  about  it  now/' 

"  I  s'pose  't  is,  fatker,  but  it 's  a  orful  shame  to 
let  that  timber  priv'lege  go." 

"  I  know  't  is,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  I  '11 
make  Jack  Blunt  smart  for  it  when  I  git  out." 

"You  '11  have  to  catch  him  first,  Deacon. 
He's  gone  back  to  the  Provinces." 

"I  know  jest  where  to  look  for  him,  'Squire/' 

"Well,  good  day,  Deacon.  I  must  go.  'Tis 
almost  train  time." 

"  How  long  afore  you  '11  git  us  out? " 

"  It  will  take  me  a  week  to  get  the  additional 
signatures.  I  will  then  forward  the  papers,  and 
your  pardon  will  probably  come  as  soon  as  the 
Governor  can  find  time  to  examine  them." 

"  'T  won't  take  him  long  to  examine  'em, 
will  it?" 

"  I  hope  not;  but  the  campaign  takes  most  of 
his  time,  now-a-days." 

"Tell  him  he'll  git  two  more  votes  if  he  gits 
me  and  Elijah  out  before  the  elekshun.  That'll 
hurry  him  up." 

"  All  right.  I  '11  tell  him.  Have  you  any 
word  to  send  to  your  wife?" 


214  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Yes.  Tell  her  she  'd  better  not  sell  no  more 
butter  now.  If  she  '11  put  it  down  in  pickle 
she  '11  git  a  bigger  price  for  it  in  the  winter." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  she  has  shut  up  the 
house  and  gone  to  live  with  Jim?  " 

"Shot  up  the  house!  No.  I  didn't  know  it. 
I  '11  make  her  smart  for  it  when  I  git  out. 
What's  she  done  with  the  critters?" 

"  I  do  n't  know." 

"  What 's  she  done  with  the  hens,  'Squire?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  If  them  hens  is  gone  I'll  raise  a  rumpus 
when  I  git  home." 

"Find  out  what  she's  done  with  everything 
and  send  me  a  letter  about  it,  'Squire." 

"  All  right,  Deacon.     I  '11  find  out  if  I  can." 

"  If  you  can't  find  the  hens,  go  over  to  Phil 
Craig's.  He 's  been  tryin'  to  buy  'em  of  me  for 
more  'n  a  year,  and  I  '11  bait  he  's  got  'em." 

"All  right.     I'll  see  him." 


Esquire  Gray  found  the  newspaper  publishers 
more  "  sympathetic "  than  the  Governor  pre 
dicted,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  procuring  their 


The  Abuse  of  the  Pardoning  Poiver.    215 

names.  In  due  time  the  petition  was  forwarded, 
and  the  pardon  anxiously  awaited.  The  election 
passed,  the  Governor  was  successful,  and  Esquire 
Gray  —  after  waiting  two  weeks — grew  impa 
tient.  He  wrote  to  the  Governor,  reminding 
him  of  his  promise.  In  a  few  days  he  received 
an  answer.  The  petition  "  would  be  examined 
immediately."  Without  further  delay  the  neces 
sary  papers  were  sent  to  the  Prison  Warden  at 
Thomaston,  and  Hezekiah  and  Elijah  Wells  were 
free.  The  pardoning  power  was  grossly  abused 
by  a  man  whom  no  one  dared  to  approach  with 
money;  yet  he  was  bribed  by  the  promise  of 
political  preferment  —  an  influence  more  subtle 
and  far  more  potent  than  gold. 

(By  a  recent  act  of  the  Legislature  of  Maine 
the  pardoning  power  is  withheld,  and  the  ends 
of  justice  can  no  longer  be  subverted  by  political 
demagogues.) 

Deacon  Wells  and  his  son  returned  to  Elton 
without  delay.  Patience,  contrary  to  the  wishes 
of  James,  returned  to  her  former  home  and  took 
upon  herself  the  burdens  of  her  old  life.  The 
Deacon  and  Elijah  -were  more  crnel  than  ever, 
and  the  suffering  wife  and  mother  silently  sub- 


216  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

mitted,  hoping  tliat  death  would  soon  deliver  her 
from  a  voluntary  bondage;  but  the  Angel  of 
Death  heeded  not  her  prayer.  Cruel  and 
relentless,  he  comes  not  at  the  bidding  of  the 
weary  and  worn.  He  lingers  on  the  threshold, 
unmindful  of  the  tired  heart's  anguish,  and 
heeds  not  the  cry  of  the  soul-sick  sojourner, 
who  fain  would  plunge  into  the  noiseless,  fath 
omless  river. 


CHAPTEE    X. 

DIVORCED. 

'  ALL  the  poor  man  back,  Deacon.  It  is 
J  cruel  to  turn  him  from  your  door  on 
such  a  bitter  night." 

a  Do  n't  call  me  deacon  no  more,  Patience. 
They  Ve  turned  me  out  o'  church  for  nothing 
and  I  won't  be  deaconed  by  nobody." 

"I'll  call  you  anything  you  wish  me  to;  but 
please  don't  let  that  poor  man  perish  in  the 
cold.  Will  you  call  him  back?  " 

"No.  I  '11  be  — blowed  if  I  do.  He  needn't 
freeze  if  he  do  n't  want  to.  There  's  other  houses 
in  Elton,  and  he  can  git  into  'em." 

"  It  is  late,  and  most  of  our  neighbors  are  in 
bed.  If  the  poor  man  should  freeze  to  death  his 
blood  would  be  on  our  hands,  Dea — Hezekiah." 

"  I  'm  boss  of  my  own  house,  Patience,  and 
that  fellow  can't  stay  here  to-night  if  he  does 

freeze;  so  that's  the  end  of  it." 
(217) 


2i8  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"I  know  this  is  your  house,  Hezekiah;  but 
God  will  deal  with  us  as  we  deal  with  His  chil 
dren." 

"  I  do  n't  want  none  of  your  preachin',  Pa 
tience.  I  '11  be " 

Patience  Wells  left  the  room.  She  could 
not  remain  and  listen  to  his  profanity  —  one 
of  his  early  habits  revived  at  Thomaston,  not 
withstanding  the  salutary  influence  of  the  prison 
chaplain. 

The  following  evening  Elijah,  almost  breath 
less,  entered  the  sitting  room. 

"  Father,  who  'd  you  s'pose  you  turned  out 
doors  last  night?" 

"I  do  n't  know.     Some  vagabone." 

"No  'twan't.  Twas  Uncle  George,  from 
Novy  Skoshy." 

"How  do  you  know?  " 

"  I  heerd  it  at  the  shoe  shop  when  I  'se  in  to 
git  my  boots  tapped." 

"Where  did  he  go  to?" 

"  Up  to  Jim's.  They  say  he's  got  a  pile,  and 
the  boys  was  laffin'  at  me  'cause  you  wouldn't 
let  him  stay  all  night." 

"Yes,   and   he'll   leave   it   all   to  Jim,   now. 


Divorced.  2 1 9 

There 's  more  of  your  work,  Patience.     You  're 
allers  spilin1  my  luck.1' 

"Why,  Hezekiah!  I  wanted  you  to  let  him 
in." 

"  But  you  ain't  got  sprawl  enough  to  take  care 
of  folks  when  I  do  let  'em  in.  That 's  why  I 
did  n't  let  him  stay." 

"  I  have  always  endeavored  to  entertain  your 
friends,  Hezekiah/1 

"  You  're  allers  snivlin'  round  the  house,  and 
I  'm  'shamed  to  ask  nobody  to  come." 

"  I  try  to  appear  cheerful  in  presence  of  your 
company.'' 

"  You  orter  be  allers  cheerful  and  thankful  to 
boot,  Patience.  You  's  nothin'  but  a  poor  orfin 
when  I  marrid  you.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me 
you  would  n't  had  no  home." 

"I'll  admit  that  I  married  you  for  a  home, 
Mr.  Wells,  and  I  have  paid  the  penalty  of  my 
folly.  I  have  been  your  slave  and  you  have 
been  a  cruel  master.  This  house  is  to  me  sim 
ply  an  abiding  place,  a  shelter  from  the  storm. 
It  is  not  home.  Through  all  the  wearisome 
years  that  I  have  borne  your  name,  you  have 
not  given  me  a  kind  word  or  a  smile.  Better, 


22O  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

a  thousand  times  better,  a  homeless  orphan  than 
an  unloved  wife.  Heaven  pity  the  poor  girl 
that  marries  for  a  home." 

"Then  you  marrid  me  for  my  money?  It's 
preshus  little  of  it  you  '11  git  if  I  do  die  fust. 
I  've  made  my  will/' 

"  I  do  n't  want  any  of  your  money,  Mr. 
Wells." 

"What  do  you  want?'' 

"Nothing  but  rest." 

"  I  s'pose  you  want  me  to  hire  a  gal  and  let 
you  go  gaddin'  'round  among  the  neighbors?" 

"  That 's  jest  what  she  wants,  father.  She  's 
been  up  to  Jim's  'til  she 's  got  spiled." 

"  And  I  wish  you  'd  stayed  up  to  Jim's,  Pa 
tience.  I  don't  want  you  snivlin'  'round  here." 

"  I  will  go  to-morrow." 


"  I  'm  glad  you  have  come,  mother.  I  've 
been  very  lonely  without  you.  The  house  has 
not  seemed  like  home  since  you  left.  You  shall 
be  tenderly  cared  for,  and  we  will  be  so  happy 
together." 

"  I  cannot  be  happy,  James.     I  am  grateful 


Divorced.  221 

for  your  kindness,  and  your  house  shall  be  my 
refuge  while  I  'm  waiting." 

"  You  shall  be  happy,  dear  mother;  and  God 
grant  that  you  may  wait  for  many,  many  years." 

"  What  have  I  to  wait  for,  James?  " 

"  You  have  me,  mother." 

"So  I  have,  my  dear  boy;  and  you  are  very 
near  to  me;  but  I  am  so  tired.  I  have  waited 
so  long  for  the  summons,  that  life  seems  almost 
interminable.  When  the  body  is  bent  by  age, 
and  the  heart  withered  by  neglect,  the  tired  soul 
must  rest." 

"You  shall  lind  rest  here,  dear  mother;  rest 
for  your  body  and  rest  for  your  soul.  You  have 
broken  the  chain  that  bound  you  to  a  cruel,  ex 
acting  husband,  and  you  will  enjoy  your  free 
dom.  You  must  petition,  at  once,  for  a  divorce." 

For  an  instant  a  glad  light  beamed  from  the 
hazel  eyes  of  Patience  Wells.  Could  she,  in 
deed,  be  free?  Could  she  sever  the  chains  that 
bound  her,  body  and  soul,  to  a  man  whom  she 
utterly  despised?  Could  she  walk  forth  from 
the  shadowy  depths  into  the  broad,  full  light  of 
a  new  life?  The  thought  was  Heaven  to  her; 
but  it  was  too  bright,  too  gladdening  to  dwell  in 


222  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

the  heart  of  Patience  Wells.  The  prejudice  of 
her  early  training  bound  her  still.  She  could 
not  hush  the  warning  voice  of  a  conscience  that 
had,  in  early  life,  been  committed  to  the  keeping 
of  "blind  leaders  of  the  blind/' 

"  I  cannot  petition  for  a  divorce.  James." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it  is  wrong.  It  is  contrary  to  the 
teachings  ot  the  Bible,  which  is  the  rule  and 
guide  of  Faith." 

"It  is  contrary  to  the  teachings  of  men  who 
blindly  endeavor  to  expound  God's  law,  mother. 
You  are  already  divorced  in  spirit.  Why  should 
you  be  bound  in  law? " 

"  Were  there  no  other  motive  to  restrain  me, 
I  should  shrink  from  the  publicity  of  such  a 
proceeding,  as  much  on  your  account  as  on  my 
own.  Why  urge  me  to  plunge  you  into  deeper 
disgrace?  Are  not  the  crimes  of  your  father 
and  brother  enough?" 

"  A  legal  severance  of  the  ties  that  bind  you 
to  Hezekiah  Wells  would  not  disgrace  either  of 
us,  mother.  God  never  joined  you  together. 
Why  should  not  man  put  asunder  those  whom 
God  hath  not  joined?  You  were  cruelly  de- 


Divorced.  223 

ceived,  and  your  marriage  has  brought  you  orily 
sorrow  and  pain." 

"  Let  me  suffer  in  silence  a  little  longer,  my 
dear  boy.  Death  will  soon  divorce  us/' 

"  It  shall  not  be,  dear  mother.  Free  from  the 
vows  that  bind  you  to  an  unnatural  husband, 
you  will  live  many  years  to  brighten  my  home.'' 

"You  are  young  and  hopeful,  James;  but  you 
are  not  a  skillful  artist.  You  paint  a  bright  pic 
ture,  leaving  out  the  shadow  in  the  background." 

"  But  you  are  not  old,  dear  mother.  In  the 
pure  atmosphere  of  a  happy  home  you  shall  look 
in  vain  for  the  shadow  in  the  background  of  my 
picture.  We  will  go  out  into  the  great  world 
and  enjoy  the  beautiful  things  that  God  has  so 
lavishly  given.  Your  last  days  shall  be  the 
brightest  arid  happiest  of  your  life." 

"  Do  not  tempt  me  to  do  violence  to  my  con 
science,  James.  Wait  'til  I  ask  God  about  it." 

"  I  will  wait,  dear  mother,  for  I  know  that  He 
will  guide  you  aright." 


"  'Squire,  I  want  a  divorce  from  the  old  wo 
man.     Can  you  git  it  for  me? " 


224  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  I  presume  so." 

"What  '11  you  tax  me  for  it?" 

"  About  a  hundred  dollars." 

"  It 's  too  much.     You  orter  do  it  for  fifty." 

"Well,  Deacon,  as  you're  an  old  client  we 
won't  fall  out  about  the  price.  What  are  your 
grounds  for  asking  a  divorce?" 

"Patience  is  allers  interferin' with  my  plans, 
and  goes  snivlin'  'round  the  house  every  time  I 
make  a  good  bargin  and  wants  me  to  swap  back." 

"  That  is  not  sufficient  ground  for  a  divorce, 
Deacon." 

"  Must  a  man  be  allers  tied  to  a  woman  that 
interferes  when  he  7s  makin'  money  accordin'  to 
law?" 

"  The  Court  will  require  stronger  ground  than 
that,  Deacon.  Has  she  failed  in  any  of  her 
wifely  duties?" 

"  She  has  left  my  bed  and  board,  but  the  bed 
was  the  one  she  brought  with  her  when  we  was 
marrid." 

<•  Where  is  she?" 

"  She  >s  up  to  Jim's." 

"How  did  she  go?  Did  she  leave  you  volun 
tarily?" 


Divorced.  225 

"  She  went  afoot." 

"  Did  yon  tell  her  to  leave?" 

The  Deacon  hesitated.  Should  he  deceive  his 
attorney?  The  thought  flashed  across  his  mind 
that  Elijah  could  testify,  and  he  answered  : 

"  No,  'Squire.     She  left  her  own  self." 

"  Then  you  can  get  a  divorce." 

"  And  you'll  do  it  for  fifty  dollars?" 

"Yes.     Seeing  it 's  you." 

"  I  did  think  I  'd  never  have  nothin'  more  to 
do  with  you,  'Squire,  'cause  you.  taxed  me  so 
steep  for  that  prison  bizness ;  but  it  comes  sort 
o'  nateral  to  come  to  you,  and  if  you  '11  work 
cheaper  in  the  futer  I  '11  keep  comin'  right 
along." 

"  We  won't  quarrel  about  prices,  Deacon." 

"I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  nobody, 
'Squire,  and  when  I  git  seprated  from  Patience 
I  '11  live  pecerble  the  rest  of  my  days." 

"  That 's  the  way  to  live,  Deacon.  4  Live 
peaceably  and  die  happy,'  is  a  good  motto." 

"  But  I  'm  too  young  to  think  about  dyin', 
'Squire." 

"  It  is  said  that  '  the  good  die  young,'  but 
15 


226  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

that  need  not  prevent  you  from  reaching  four 
score,  Deacon." 

"Yes;  and  maybe  more.  I  belong  to  a  long 
livin'  fam'ly,  and  I  may  live  to  see  seventy- 
five." 

"What  will  you  do  when  you  grow  old, 
Deacon?" 

"  I  s'pose  I  '11  set  in  a  corner  and  chaw  ter- 
backer,  like  the  rest  of  the  old  men." 

"  You  '11  have  enough  to  keep  you  in  good 
style." 

"  Yes ;  I  '11  have  a  purty  fair  nest-aig,  but  I 
do  n't  want  no  style  about  me.  I  b'leve  in  livin' 
plain  like,  and  that's  one  thing  I 've  got  agin 
Patience.  She  wants  to  be  too  primp." 

"  Can  you  prove  that  she 's  been  extravagant 
and  wasteful? " 

"I'll  have  to  have  a  witness  to  prove  that; 
won't  I,  'Squire?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Well;  I  can  prove  it  by  Elijah.  He's  a 
witness." 

"  Yes.     He  '11  do." 

"And  I  can  prove   that   she   fed  good  soap 


Divorced.  22 7 

grease  to  the  liens,  and  used  aigs  instead  of 
codfish  skin  to  settle  coffee  when  she  had 
company/' 

"  What  did  she  use  to  settle  coffee  when  she 
had  no  company?'' 

"  She  did  n't  make  no  coffee,  them  times." 

"  Then  she  is  not  very  extravagant." 

"  Yes  she  is.  She  'd  a  made  it  if  I  'd  let 
her." 

"Did  she  make  tea?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"What  did  you  drink?" 

"  Sweetened  water  and  buttermilk." 

"  Did  she  make  a  great  deal  of  pastry?" 

"  Make  what?" 

"  Pies,  tarts,  cake,  etc." 

"  No,  sir." 

"What  did  she  cook?" 

"  Fried  mush  and  codfish  hash." 

"  I  will  not  allege  that  she  was  wasteful  or 
extravagant.  I  will  put  it  on  the  ground  of 
abandonment." 

"I  do  n't  care  what  grounds  you  put  it  on; 
but  Elijah  will  swear  that  she 's  orful  wasting,  if 
you  want  him  to." 


228  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  I  do  n't  think  I  want  him  to,  Deacon.     I  '11 
file  the  papers  at  once." 

"  All  right,  'Squire.     Make  'em  strong." 
"  I  will." 


"'  God  has  answered  your  prayer,  dear  mother. 
Father  has  commenced  proceedings  for  a  di 
vorce." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"  I  was  in  the  Clerk's  office  at  Glenville,  to 
day,  when  the  papers  were  filed." 

"What  shall  I  do  about  it?" 

"I  shall  see  Mr.  Ainsworth  as  soon  as  the 
notice  is  served  on  yon,  and  ask  him  to  file  a 
cross  bill." 

"  You  know  best,  James,  and  I  shall  place  the 
matter  in  your  hands." 

u  All  right,  mother.  It  shall  be  so  managed 
as  to  give  you  but  little  trouble." 

"  Will  I  have  to  go  to  Court? " 

"  Yes.     We  will  need  you." 

"  Is  there  no  way  to  avoid  it? " 

"  No,  mother.  If  we  let  the  case  go  by  default 
the  record  will  show  that  you  were  wholly  to 


Divorced.  229 

blame.     He  has  charged   that  you   voluntarily 
abandoned  him." 
« I  will  go." 


When  the  case  of  Hezekiah  Wells  vs.  Patience 
Wells  was  called,  Mr.  Ainsworth  appeared  for 
the  defendant  and  filed  a  cross  bill,  setting  forth 
the  many  acts  of  cruelty  of  which  the  plaintiff 
was  guilty;  praying  that  a  divorce,  together 
with  alimony,  be  granted  to  the  defendant.  The 
Court  granted  the  prayer  of  Patience  Wells,  and 
decreed  that  Hezekiah  Wells  should  pay  her  the 
sum  of  forty  thousand  dollars,  in  semi-annual 
payments  of  five  thousand  dollars,  with  six  per 
cent,  interest  from  the  date  of  the  decree. 

When  the  judgment  of  the  Court  was  an 
nounced,  Deacon  Wells  was  thunderstruck.  He 
told  the  Judge  he  'd  u  ruther  live  with  Patience 
than  pay  her  more  'n  five  hundred  dollars,"  and 
he  "  guessed  he  'd  dismiss  the  case  and  let  him 
take  the  divorce  back."  He  thought  it  "a 
strange  proceedin'"  when  the  Court  informed 
him  that  the  matter  had  passed  beyond  his 
control. 


230  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"It's  orful,  Elijah." 

"  Shure  's  you  're  born." 

"Thirty  thousand  to  git  out  o'  prison  and 
forty  thousand  to  git  red  of  a  wife,  all  in  one 
year." 

"  Yes;  and  I  'm  the  wust  loser  by  it." 

"You're  the  only  loser,  Elijah.  There's 
enough  left  to  last  me  my  life  time." 

"And  they  say  Jim's  wuth  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  and  still  a  makin'  of  it;  and  he  '11  git 
all  this  forty  thousand." 

"  Yes;  Patience  '11  give  it  all  to  him." 

"  Shure  's  you  're  born/' 

"  If  we  can  lose  seventy  thousand  dollars  in  a 
year,  how  long  will  it  take  to  lose  a  hundred 
thousand,  Elijah?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  orter  know.  You  studied  'rithmetick 
in  skule." 

"  But  that 's  a  sum  in  desolate  frackshuns,  and 
I've  forgot  'em." 

"You  orter  remember  your  skulin',  Elijah. 
You  may  have  to  depend  on  it  for  a  livin'  if 
things  keep  goin'  this  way." 

"I'll  never  teech  skule  for  a  livin'  as  long 


Divorced.  231 

as    there's    any   yearlins    in    the    country    for 

sale." 

"  It  '11  keep  us  humpin'  to  make  them  semmy 

aneral  payments,  Elijah." 

"What  is  semmy  aneral  payments,  father?" 
"  Once  in  two  years,  Elijah.     It 's  strange  how 

fast  you  're  forgittin'  your  jografy." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

GEORGE    WELLS. 

ON'T  you  want  to  take  a  ride  with  me, 
to-day,  Uncle  George?" 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  go,  James.  'Tis 
a  delightful  morning  and  I  always  enjoy  a 
sleighride." 

"  All  right.  I  shall  be  ready  in  an  hour. 
In  the  mean  time  you  can  have  a  chat  with 
mother." 

u  Go  and  attend  to  your  business,  James. 
Don't  worry  about  me.  I  am  enjoying  my 
visit  so  much  that  I  fear  I  shall  protract  it 
beyond  the  allotted  time." 

George  Wells,  as  the  reader  has  already 
divined,  is  wholly  unlike  Hezekiah.  They  were 
as  widely  different  in  their  youth  as  in  their 
manhood.  George  was  studious,  industrious, 
and  upright,  while  Hezekiah  was  thoughtless, 

lazy,    and    dishonest.     While    George    was    at 

(232) 


George   Wells.  233 

school,  Hezekiah  was  robbing  bird's  nests  or 
indulging  in  cock-fighting.  His  associates  were 
idle  and  dissolute,  and  he  went  on  from  bad  to 
worse  until,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  he  was 
compelled  to  leave  home,  or  suffer  the  penalty  of 
the  offended  law.  He  fled  to  Calais,  where  he 
engaged  in  smuggling.  His  operations  were 
successful,  and  during  a  period  of  three  years 
he  accumulated  several  thousand  dollars.  Stim 
ulated  by  good  fortune,  he  openly  violated  the 
revenue  laws  until  the  officers  tracked  him,  when 
he  fled  to  Elton,  and  joined  the  church  in  order 
to  conceal  his  true  character  and  continue  his 
smuggling  operations  without  fear  of  detection. 
George,  in  the  mean  time,  was  steadily  work 
ing  his  way  up  in  the  world.  He  had  acquired 
a  fair  English  education,  and  was  blessed  with  a 
liberal  share  of  common  sense.  He  engaged  in 
shipping  land  plaster  to  Boston  and  Philadel 
phia,  and  soon  became  one  of  the  heaviest 
operators  in  the  Province.  After  Hezekiah 
left  Calais  he  heard  nothing  from  him.  2s  o 
letters  passed  between  them.  The  Deacon 
heard,  through  Jack  Blunt,  that  "George  was 
shippin'  plaster,  and  was  wuth  more  'n  a  hun- 


234  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

dred  thousand  dollars,"  but  Jack  did  not  make 
himself  known  to  George.  The  Deacon  was 
surprised  to  learn  that  George  had  accumu 
lated  a  fortune  by  fair  dealing,  and  had  Jack 
reported  the  sum  correctly  his  surprise  would 
have  been  still  greater.  He  did  not  dream  that 
honest  toil  would  bring  a  rich  reward.  Accord 
ing  to  his  idea,  fraud  was  the  only  road  to 
wealth. 

A  personal  notice  of  "  Congressman  Wells," 
in  a  Boston  paper,  attracted  George's  attention, 
and  he  read  it  witli  deep  interest.  He  learned 
that  James  Wells  was  the  son  of  a  Xova  Scotian, 
and  that  his  home  was  in  Elton.  The  name  was 
not  common  in  ]STova  Scotia,  and  he  surmised 
that  James  Wells  was  his  nephew.  James  was 
a  prominent  member  of  Congress,  and  George 
fondly  hoped  that  Hezekiah  had  reformed. 
Seized  by  an  irresistible  desire  to  see  his 
brother,  he  went  home  and  made  his  arrange 
ments  to  visit  Elton.  At  Berwick  he  found  the 
coach  crowded,  and  was  compelled  to  ride  on  the 
outside  with  the  driver.  This  arrangement  was 
satisfactory,  notwithstanding  the  bitter  cold,  as 
it  would  afford  him  an  opportunity  to  learn 


George   Wells.  235 

something  of  James  Wells  and  his  family.  He 
gave  the  driver  a  "pure  Havana,"  and  opened  the 
conversation. 

"  Do  you  know  a  man  named  Wells,  in 
Elton?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Everybody  on  this  route  knows 
Deacon  Wells." 

"  What 's  his  given  name?  " 

"Hezekiah." 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  came  from  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  he's  from  Novy  Skoshy." 

"What  kind  of  a  man  is  he?" 

"  He  's  a  hard  ticket,  sir.  I  guess  them  Novy 
Skoshyans  is  all  hard  tickets.  Leastwise,  he  and 
Jack  Blunt  is.  The  Deacon  has  been  in  the 
penitenshary,  and  Jack  orter  be." 

"What  was  the  Deacon  sent  for?" 

"He  and  Lige,  his  oldest  boy,  was  sent  for 
forgin'  a  deed.  The  old  Deacon  got  seven  years 
and  Lige  four." 

"When  were  they  sentenced?" 

u  About  a  year  ago.  They  only  had  to  stay 
seven  or  eight  months.  The  Govner  pardoned 
'em  out  three  or  four  months  ago." 


2 $6  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Then  James  Wells,  the  Congressman,  is  not 
the  Deacon's  son?" 

"  Yes  he  is;  but  he's  no  more  like  him  than 
I  'm  like  a  full-feathered  angel.  Jim's  the  best 
feller  in  Ameriky,  'and  jest  as  smart  as  a  steel 
trap.  God  has  quit  makin'  better  men  than 
Jim  Wells,  and  I  'm  doubtin'  if  He  ever  com 
menced  makin'  'em." 

"  How  does  it  come  that  there  is  such  a  wide 
difference  between  him  and  Elijah?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  the  Lord  made  Jim  and  the 
devil  made  Lige.  That 's  my  idee  about  it,  but 
most  folks  say  it 's  inherited  by  Jim  and  Lige 
from  their  father  and  mother.  The  Deacon 
marrid  one  of  the  best  wimmin  that  was  ever 
crowded  into  shoe  leather,  and  Jim's  jest  like 
her  in  looks  and  actions,  while  Lige  is  as  much 
like  his  father  as  the  telegraph  is  like  a  streak 
of  lightnm'.  It's  sort  o'  puzzlin'  how  they 
come  so." 

"Why  is  Hezekiah  called  Deacon?" 

"  He  was  a  regular  blood  and  thunder  deacon 
'til  he  got  into  the  penitenshary.  He  jined 
church  to  help  him  in  his  rum  smugglin'  biz- 
ness,  and  he  looked  so  confounded  meek  and 


George   Wells.  237 

innersent  that  they  soon  made  a  deacon  of  him; 
but  he 's  jest  about  as  fit  for  a  deacon  as  I  am  for 
a  minister.  His  heart 's  harder  'n  the  devil's  off 
horn,  and  he's  got  no  more  religion  than  a 
jailer  jacket." 

"  How  many  children  has  he?  " 
"Only  Jim  and  Lige." 
"  Are  they  married?  " 

"No.  Jim's  got  a  big  house,  but  he  ain't 
marrid,  and  there  ain't  a  gal  in  Elton  mean 
enough  to  marry  Lige." 

"Where  does  Hezekiah  live?" 
"  In  a  big  brown  house  on  the  east  side  of  the 
road,  jest  above  the  church." 
"  Does  he  live  in  good  style? " 
"I  guess  he  don't  put  on  no  scollops  sense  he 
got  out  of  prison,   and    he 's    too    stingy  to  eat 
anything  but  codfish  hash.     I  nerver  eat  a  meal 
in  his  house,  but  they  say  he  lives  so  cheap  that 
the  flies  all  starve  to  death,  and  a  church  mouse 
couldn't  stan'  it  a  week." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  for  your  information." 
"  You  're  intirely  welcome,  sir.    It 's  a  driver's 
duty  to  tell  a  passenger  everything  he  knows, 
and  some  of  'em  tell  an  orful  sight  more,  'though 


238  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

the  drivers  on  this  route  is  a  purty  fair  set,  con- 
siderin'  their  ockerpashnn." 

"  Stage  drivers  are  generally  truthful,  are  they 
not?" 

"  Not  so  orful.  They  see  a  good  many  gen 
tlemen  and  a  good  many  shams.  'T  ain't  often 
we  git  a  geniwine  Seth  Thomas  Havana  weed 
like  this.  They  give  us  a  penny  grab  and 
smoke  the  good  ones  theirselves.  It 's  the  shams 
that  makes  the  drivers  lie." 

"  It  takes  all  kinds  of  people  to  make  a  world, 
you  know." 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  a  stage  driver's  world  is  made 
up  mostly  of  one  kind,  and  I  'm  sorry  to  say 
they  are  not  like  you,  sir.  We  only  know 
there's  big  fish  'cause  we  see  the  little  ones." 

"  I  do  n't  understand  your  reasoning." 

"  If  there  was  n't  no  big  fish  to  eat  the  shrimps, 
it  stands  to  reason  that  the  shrimps  wouldn't  a 
been  created,  and  the  little  men  that  ride  with 
us  was  created  for  somethin'." 

"  I  suppose  nothing  was  created  in  vain." 

"Maybe  not;  but  I  guess  'twould  puzzle  the 
wise  men  of  Boston  to  tell  what  Canady  thistles 
was  created  for,  onless  't  was  to  keep  boys  from 


George   Wells.  239 

goin'  barefoot.  I  do  n't  believe  they  was  made 
'til  after  shoemakin'  was  invented." 

"  Then  you  do  n't  like  Canada  thistles?  " 

"  ISTo,  sir.  I  lost  my  appertite  for  'em  when  I 
was  a  little  boy." 

"  Were  you  raised  on  a  farm? " 

"  I  was  n't  exactly  raised  anywhere.  I  kind  o? 
growed  up  'twixt  a  farm  and  a  saw-mill,  and 
then  went  to  stage  drivin'  on  this  route." 

" How  long  have  you  been  driving?" 

"Ever  sense  I 's  born,  almost;  but  accordin' 
to  the  way  my  present  father  sot  my  age  down 
in  the  famly  Bible,  I  was  born  at  fourteen,  and 
I  've  been  drivin'  stage  ever  sense." 

"  Do  you  like  it?" 

"  Not  so  overly  much ;  but  it  beats  nothin'  all 
holler.  If  it 's  true  that  this  life  is  the  end  of  a 
man,  I  might  as  well  die  drivin'  stage  as  any 
thing  else." 

"  But  this  life  is  not  the  end.  There  is  a  life 
beyond  the  grave." 

"  Maybe  there  is.  I  'm  not  prepared  to  deny 
it;  but  they've  argued  the  question  on  this 
route  'til  I've  got  all  mixed  up  about  it.  I 
took  a  little  feller  with  a  wite  choker  down 


240  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

one  trip,  and  he  told  me  lie  had  a  shure  thing  on 
goin'  to  Heaven.  The  next  trip  up  I  took  him 
to  Gleiiville  for  stealin'  hosses,  and  the  Sheriff 
said  he  had  a  shure  thing  on  goin'  to  the  peni- 
tensliary.  And  that's  the  way  it  goes  with 
stage  drivers.  They  hain't  got  no  shure  thing 
on  nothiii'  but  a  hard  life  and  poor  pay.  Here 's 
Elton,  sir.  Where  shall  I  set  you  down?  " 

"  At  the  hotel,  if  you  please." 

"'T  ain't  much  of  a  hotel.  'Tis  only  a 
country  tavern,  and  a  poor  one  at  that." 

"  It  will  not  be  my  first  night  in  a  country 
tavern,  my  friend." 

uTell  'em  to  give  you  lots  of  bed  close 
to-night.  There's  a  big  storm  a  brewin',  and 
it's  goin'  to  be  a  screamer." 

"  Thank  you.     I  '11  tell  them." 

"Here  we  are.  Run  right  in.  I'll  bring 
your  trunk." 

The  driver  deposited  the  heavy  trunk  in  the 
bar-room.  George  gave  him  a  dollar  and  two 
more  Havanas.  He  was  profuse  in  his  thanks, 
and  mounted  the  box  apparently  unmindful  of 
the  bitter  cold.  "  He  's  a  geniwine  gentleman, 
and  no  mistake.  There  's  no  rancid  cod-liver  ile 


George   Wells.  241 

about  him.  He  's  sound  to  the  core,  and  knows 
jest  how  to  treat  a  whip.  Git  up,  boys.  It 's 
goin'  to  be  colder 'n  a  Glenville  prayer  meetin' 
afore  you  git  there." 

George  Wells  was  greatly  depressed  by  the 
stage  driver's  account  of  Hezekiah's  criminal 
conduct.  He  was  tempted  to  return  to  his  home 
without  making  himself  known  to  his  relatives, 
but  he  yielded  to  a  natural  desire  to  see  his 
brother,  and  started  out  in  the  dark.  As  he 
approached  the  house  he  determined  to  apply 
for  shelter  from  the  furious  storm.  The  reader 
knows  the  result.  George  went  back  to  the 
hotel  and  spent  a  sleepless  night.  He  had  been 
turned  from  the  door  of  his  only  brother  in  a 
manner  that  convinced  him  of  that  brother's 
utter  heartlessness. 

The  next  morning  he  called  on  James,  who 
gave  him  a  welcome  that  induced  him  to  pro 
tract  his  visit.  James  enjoyed  his  uncle's 
society,  and  the  attachment  was  mutual.  He 
managed  to  spend  many  of  his  evenings  at 
home  with  his  mother  and  "Uncle  George," 
who  joined  him  in  urging  Patience  to  apply 

for  a  divorce.     It  was  not  strange  that  George 
16 


242  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

should  be  irresistibly  drawn  toward  James  and 
Patience.  They  were  all  the  world  to  him,  for 
all  his  relatives  were  in  Elton.  He  avoided 
Ilezekiah  and  Elijah,  and  was  content  with 
James,  Patience,  and  his  books. 

At  the  appointed  time  James  drove  up  to  the 
door. 

"All  ready,  Uncle?" 

"  All  ready,  James." 

"  Where  shall  we  drive?" 

"  Anywhere.  Your  company  and  the  ride  is 
what  I  want." 

u  I  have  a  young  friend,  about  twelve  miles 
from  here,  whom  I  think  you  will  like.  He  lives 
on  the  Berwick  road,  and  it  is  a  pleasant  drive. 
Shall  we  go  there?" 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  meet  any  of  your 
friends." 

u  You  will  like  Harry  Jones.  He  is  crippled, 
and  is  necessarily  confined  to  the  house;  but 
he  is  a  good  conversationist,  and  you  will  be 
surprised  at  his  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
world." 

"  Was  he  born  a  cripple? " 

"  Yes,  sir." 


George   Wells.  243 

u  Then  he  owes  his  knowledge  of  the  world  to 
books?" 

"And  newspapers." 

a  It  is  difficult  to  determine  which  are  the  best 
educators." 

u  We  could  not  get  along  without  both;  yet  I 
should  give  newspapers  the  preference." 

"  We  differ  on  that  point,  James.  Books  con 
tain  all  that  is  worth  preserving." 

"By  no  means,  Uncle.  It  is  simply  a  more 
convenient  form  of  preserving  important  facts. 
The  Press  has  made  rapid  strides  in  the  past 
twenty  years,  and  the  newspaper  gives  us  not 
only  the  current  events  of  the  day,  but  a  concise 
history  of  the  past.  It  treats  of  scientific  sub 
jects  and  presents  them  in  the  most  pleasing 
form.  The  man  who  confines  himself  to  books, 
knows  comparatively  little  of  the  great  world  in 
which  he  lives.  The  newspaper  of  to-day  is  the 
foundation  for  many  books.  It  is  the  source  of 
the  book- writer's  information." 

"  But  newspapers  contain  so  much  that  is 
pernicious." 

"The  same  is  true  of  books.     We  have  the 


244  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

good  and  the  bad  in  both,  but  the  good  predom 
inates." 

"How  is  it  with  the  great  human  family, 
James?  Does  the  good  predominate?" 

"  I  think  it  does.  I  have  seen  more  good  than 
evil  in  the  world." 

uThat  is  not  the  prevailing  opinion.  Your 
experience  is  widely  at  variance  with  many  close 
observers." 

"  That  is  because  they  shut  their  eyes  to  the 
good,  and  see  only  the  evil  that  is  in  the  world. 
They  are  not  impartial  observers." 

"  There  is  so  much  crime  in  the  world,  James. 
Murder  and  theft  are  of  daily  occurrence,  and 
the  social  evil  is  alarming  in  its  extent  and  rapid 
growth." 

"  I  believe  that  nine  of  every  ten  men  are 
honest,  and  ninety-nine  of  every  hundred  women 
are  virtuous,  Uncle.  One  rascal  will  make 
more  noise  in  the  world  than  a  dozen  honest 
men." 

"  I  hope  you  will  never  have  occasion  to 
change  your  mind,  James.  It  is  best  to  look 
on  the  bright  side." 


George   Wells.  245 

"  And  there  is  a  bright  side  to  every  real 
picture." 

"  But  it  is  not  always  visible,  James.  Some 
people  are  so  constituted  that  they  can't  see  the 
bright  things  in  the  world." 

"  They  are  not  '  real  folks,'  Uncle.  Only  the 
visionary  spend  their  lives  in  mourning  over 
fancied  grievances."  * 

"  Acute  pain  is  born  of  imaginary  ills,  and  the 
real  is  no  worse  than  the  seeming.  Look  at  the 
vast  number  of  people  who  have  the  '  blues ' 
without  a  cause.  Are  they  not  deserving  of 
sympathy?" 

"Certainly  they  are;  but  they  are  not  prac 
tical  people.  No  man  with  a  well-balanced  mind 
will  be  '  blue '  without  a  cause.  '  Blues '  is 
simply  another  name  for  mild  insanity." 

"  Then  the  world  is  only  an  asylum  for  the 
insane." 

"  By  no  means.  The  great  majority  of  man 
kind  are  not  troubled  with  the  k  blues.'  It  is 
usually  inherited,  and  should  be  treated  as  other 
diseases  of  the  mind." 

"What  is  your  prescription,  James?" 

"  I  am  not  a  physician,  Uncle,  but  I  derived 


246  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

great  benefit  from  the  stereotyped  prescription: 
Hard  work,  pleasant  companions,  pure  air,  and 
wholesome  food." 

"Then  you  have  had  the  blues?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  I  have  entirely  recovered." 

"I  have  taken  your  prescription  for  years, 
with  the  exception  of  the  pleasant  companions, 
and  have  found  no  relief." 

"  You  have  omitted  an  important  ingredient. 
Add  the  'pleasant  companions '  and  I  will  guar 
antee  a  permanent  cure." 

"  Thank  you.  I  will  act  on  your  suggestion. 
I  am  satisfied  that  I  have  lived  too  much  alone." 

"  It  seems  so  strange  that  you  never  married, 
Uncle." 

"  My  bride  is  in  Heaven,  James.  She  went 
home  two  weeks  before  the  day  appointed  for 
our  wedding.  Sometimes,  when  I  am  very,  very 
lonely,  I  go  and  sit  beside  her  grave  and  imagine 
that  I  feel  her  presence.  It  may  be  only  seem 
ing,  but  the  solace  is  real.  It  has  robbed  death 
of  its  sting  and  the  grave  of  its  terrors.  The 
hope  that  we  may  be  united  has  been  the  one 
great  comfort  of  my  life.  When  I  would  sin, 
her  gentle  influence  restrains  me.  When  I 


George   Wells.  247 

would  die,  she  bids  me  live.  She  guides  me 
now  as  in  the  long  ago,  when  her  pure  life  and 
kindly  teachings  revealed  the  glories  of  a  blessed 
immortality/' 

For  a  time,  both  were  silent;  both  were  think 
ing.  They  were  trying  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
our  being.  George  was  first  in  giving  utterance 
to  his  thoughts,  and  a  long  discussion  on  the 
subject  of  spiritualism  followed.  A  subject 
nearest  the  heart  and  farthest  from  the  brain; 
a  theme  that  man  cannot  grasp,  and  upon 
which  the  angels  are  silent. 

Bessie  Jones  was  spending  a  week  with  Harry 
while  the  school  house  at  Elton  was  being 
repaired.  Although  no  longer  compelled  to 
work,  she  could  not  remain  idle,  and  her 
attachment  for  her  old  pupils  induced  her  to 
teach  another  term.  James  introduced  his 
uncle,  and  a  few  hours  were  spent  in  pleasant 
and  profitable  conversation.  George  was  so  well 
pleased  with  Harry  and  Bessie  that  he  asked 
James  to  drive  down  again  during  the  week  —  a 
proposition  that  was  gladly  accepted.  At  four 
o'clock  they  started  for  home. 

"  You  didn't  speak  of  the  young  lady  on  the 


248  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

way  down,  James.     She   seems   as  much   your 
friend  as  Harry." 

"  I  think  I  did  n't  mention  her  name.  "We 
were  talking  so  steadily  about  other  subjects  that 
I  forgot  to  speak  of  her.  She  is  a  very  dear 
friend.  What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"  She  is  an  intelligent,  sensible,  womanly 
woman,  James.  I  like  her  very  much." 

"  So  do  I.  We  agree  on  that  point,  Uncle.  I 
hope  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  she  will  be 
more  to  me  than  a  dear  friend." 

"  Such  a  union  cannot  be  otherwise  than 
happy,  my  dear  nephew,  and  I  hope  you  will  be 
abundantly  blessed." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  I  thought  she  was  more  than  a  friend,  James. 
I  noticed  that  she  blushed  deeply  when  that 
old  lady  asked  when  you  would  want  the  little 
stockings/' 


"You   will   have  to  visit   Bessie   and  Harry 
without  me,  to-day,  Uncle." 
"Why  so?" 
"  I   have   just  received  a  dispatch  from  Mr. 


George  Wells.  249 

Ainsworth,  stating  that  an  important  case  in 
which  we  are  interested  will  be  called  for  trial 
to-morrow." 

"  Can't  you  get  back  in  time  to  take  the 
evening  stage?'' 

"  I  am  going,  up  with  Mr.  Lamb.  We  will 
start  in  about  an  hour.  You  can  drive  the 
blacks  without  trouble,  if  you  '11  hold  them  back 
a  little  on  the  start." 

"I  am  not  much  of  a  horseman;  but  I  can 
either  manage  them  or  accept  the  alternative, 
and  let  them  run." 

"  Here  they  are.  I  will  see  if  John  has  every 
thing  all  right." 

"  I  '11  risk  John.     He  is  very  careful/' 

"  All  right,  Uncle.     Jump  in." 

George  took  the  reins,  and  the  blacks  started 
off  in  a  brisk  trot.  As  they  descended  the  hill, 
near  Mrs.  Love's,  they  began  to  run,  and  soon 
became  unmanageable.  George  tried  in  vain  to 
check  their  speed.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  a 
yoke  of  oxen  were  plodding  along  with  a  heavily 
loaded  sled.  The  danger  of  a  collision  was 
imminent.  George  could  not  turn  the  horses 
from  the  road  and  the  oxen  could  not  get  out  of 


250  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

the  way.  Robbie  Bently,  who  was  walking  up 
the  hill,  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and 
resolved  to  stop  the  horses,  if  possible.  On  the 
opposite  side  of  the  road  was  a  deep  snow-drift. 
If  he  could  frighten  them  into  the  drift  they 
could  be  easily  checked.  He  stood  very  near  the 
road  until  they  were  almost  upon  him,  when  he 
suddenly  opened  his  umbrella.  The  startled 
horses  plunged  into  the  deep  snow  and  were 
soon  stopped. 

"Thank  you,  my  little  man.  That  was 
bravely  done." 

"You're  welcome,  sir.     Is  anything  broke?" 

"  I  believe  not." 

Robbie  waited  until  George  quieted  the  horses 
by  patting  their  necks,  when  he  started  up  the 
hill. 

u  Hold  on,  my  brave  fellow.  Here 's  a  little 
spending  money  for  you." 

"Thank  you.     I  don't  want  any  money,  sir." 

"  But  you  must  take  it.  I  shall  not  feel  right 
unless  you  do." 

"  This  is  too  much,  sir.    It 's  a  ten-dollar  bill." 

"  I  know  it.  I  think  't  is  a  cheap  runaway, 
too.  What  is  your  name? " 


George   Wells.  251 

"It  used  to  be  Robbie  Bently;  but  they  call 
me  Ragged  Bob  since  I  'm  only  a  bound  boy. 
They  do  n't  call  me  that  as  much  as  they  used 
to,  'though,  since  Bessie  Jones  give  me  this 
coat." 

"Then  Bessie  Jones  is  a  good  friend,  is  she?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  She 's  good  to  everybody,  'cause 
she  can't  help  it.  I  guess  God  made  her  so." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  have  an  umbrella 
this  bright  morning?" 

"  Mr.  Lee,  the  man  I  live  with,  borrowed  it 
last  night,  and  I  was  jest  taking  it  home  to  Mrs. 
Love's." 

"  It  is  fortunate  for  me  that  he  borrowed  it. 
Does  Mr.  Lee  treat  you  kindly?" 

"  I  s'pose  he  treats  me  as  well  as  bound  boys 
are  generally  treated.  'T  ain't  like  livin'  at 
home,  you  know." 

"  Are  your  parents  dead? " 

"Yes,  sir.  My  father  died  when  I  was  a  little 
boy.  We  lived  on  the  place  'til  Deacon  Wells 
bought  it  and  turned  us  out;  then  mother  died, 
and  we  children  were  bound  out." 

"  Did  Deacon  Wells  buy  the  place  of  your 
mother?" 


252  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

''No,  sir.  He  bought  it  of  the  Sheriff. 
Father  owed  a  thousand  dollars,  and  the  place 
had  to  go  to  pay  it." 

"  What  is  the  place  worth?" 

"  About  three  thousand  dollars." 

"  And  Deacon  Wells  bought  it  for  a  thou 
sand?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  turned  your  mother  out  of  the  house?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Have  you  any  brothers  or  sisters?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  have  two  sisters  living.  Two 
of  my  sisters  died  last  summer." 

" Do  they  live  in  Elton? " 

"  No,  sir.  Susie  lives  at  Berwick  and  Anna 
at  Glenville.  She's  bound  to  the  tavern 
keeper." 

"  Are  they  kindly  treated?  " 

"  'Bout  like  the  common  run  of  bound  girls,  I 
guess." 

"  Good  morning,  my  boy.  I  '11  see  you 
again." 

George  Wells  resolved  to  look  after  the 
Bently  children.  They  had  been  wronged  by 
his  brother;  but  he  would  right  that  wrong,  so 


George   Wells.  253 

far  as  money  was  concerned.  He  would  refund 
the  two  thousand  dollars,  and  see  that  it  was 
wisely  expended  in  educating  the  orphans. 


"  Good  morning,  Miss  Jones." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Wells.      I  am  glad  to 


see  vou." 


"  Thank  you.  You  see  I  have  not  brought 
my  welcome  with  me.  James  was  called  to 
Glenville,  this  morning,  and  could  not  come." 

"  You  are  very  welcome  on  your  own  account, 
Mr.  Wells." 

"I  don't  doubt  it;  but  we  could  have  a  very 
enjoyable  day  if  James  were  here." 

"We  can  have  an  enjoyable  day  without 
him." 

"  But  it  won't  be  quite  so  happy,  Bessie." 

"  I  do  n't  know  how  much  you  and  Mr. 
Wells  will  miss  him.  I  shall  enjoy  the  day 
very  much,  Harry." 

"So  shall  I,  Bessie.  I  am  going  to  be  as 
happy  as  I  can  without  James;  but  there  is  a 
world  of  sunshine  in  his  bright  eyes,  and  we 
shall  all  miss  him." 


2  54  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

,"  He  Js  a  royal  good  fellow,  Mr.  Jones,  and  it 
is  not  strange  that  you  should  like  him." 

"  He  has  been  very  good  to  us,  and  we  appre 
ciate  his  kindness.  He  often  gives  me  a  ride 
behind  his  beautiful  blacks." 

"The  blacks  ran  away  with  me,  this  morn 
ing." 

"  How  did  you  stop  them  ? " 
"Bobbie  Ben tly  frightened  them  into  a  snow 
drift." 

"  That 's  an  odd  way  to  stop  a  runaway  team." 

"  But  it  is  a  very  sure  way,  Miss  Jones,  when 
the  snow  is  deep  enough." 

"How  did  he  frighten  them?" 

"He  stood  beside  the  road  and  frightened 
them  by  suddenly  spreading  his  umbrella.  He 
was  remarkably  cool  about  it." 

"Bobbie  is  a  remarkable  boy,  Mr.  Wells. 
His  opportunities  have  not  been  good,  but  he 
has  improved  wonderfully  in  two  years.  He  is 
one  of  my  best  pupils,  and  I  am  anxious  to  see 
him  succeed.  If  he  could  have  the  privilege  of 
going  to  school  he  would  learn  rapidly.  He  is 
kept  at  home  every  other  day,  and  yet  he  keeps 
up  with  his  class." 


George   Wells.  255 

"  If  he  was  a  little  further  advanced  I  should 
like  to  take  him  home  with  me.  I  need  a  faith 
ful  boy." 

"  TThat  do  YOU  want  him  to  do? " 

"  Keep  books  and  attend  to  my  correspond 
ence." 

"  If  you  will  take  him  one  year  from  now,  J[ 
will  guarantee  that  he  shall  be  qualified.  I  will 
teach  him  book-keeping  this  winter,  and  will 
work  very  hard  to  make  him  all  that  you  desire, 
so  far  as  it  is  in  my  power  to  do  so.  I  think  I 
can  teach  him  grammar,  penmanship  and  punc 
tuation  during  the  winter  evenings.  I  will  ask 
Mr.  Lee  to  let  him  come  to  Mrs.  Love's,  where  I 
can  devote  much  time  to  him.  Pardon  me  for 
asking  so  much.  I  feel  a  deep  interest  in  Rob 
bie's  welfare." 

"  I  am  glad  the  poor  boy  has  so  true  a  friend, 
Miss  Jones." 

"  He  is  truthful,  intelligent  and  kind-hearted, 
Mr.  Wells.  He  is  worthy  of  my  friendship. 
You  are  aware  that  he  is  not  educated,  if  you 
have  talked  with  him;  but  a  little  schooling  has 
wrought  such  a  change  that  I  feel  confident  that 


256  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

he  will  soon  learn  what  you  require ;  and  I  know 
you  can  trust  him." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  suggest,  Miss  Jones.  I 
will  take  him  next  winter,  if  our  lives  be 
spared;  provided,  always,  that  he  will  come  to 
me." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Wells.  He  will  cheerfully 
go  to  you.  He  is  so  anxious  to  do  something  to 
help  his  sisters." 

"  Will  Mr.  Lee  let  him  go?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  He  says  Eobbie  is  a  burden  to 
him.  He  will  gladly  let  him  go." 

"  I  will  call  on  Mr.  Lee,  when  I  return,  and 
arrange  the  matter." 

"  I  am  so  glad.  Poor  Eobbie  has  had  a  hard 
life,  of  late,  and  the  change  will  be  very  agreea 
ble  to  him." 

"Is  Mr.  Lee  unkind  to  him?" 

"I  don't  know  that  he  is  positively  unkind; 
but  he  is  rather  frugal,  and  Eobbie  works  very 
hard.  Mr.  Lee  tells  him  that  he  does  not  earn 
the  bread  he  eats,  and  that  is  not  consoling,  you 
know." 

"No;  it  isn't  very  comforting.     We  will  put 


George   Wells.  257 

Robbie  in  a  place  where  he  can  earn  his  bread,  if 
Mr.  Lee  will  let  us  do  it." 

The  day  passed  in  pleasant  conversation.  Bes 
sie  and  Harry  persuaded  Mr.  Wells  to  remain 
until  after  tea,  and  it  was  past  nine  o'clock  when 
he  drove  up  to  the  stable  door  where  John 
awaited  him. 

"  Be  sure  to  rub  them  well,  John.  "We  came 
along  pretty  lively." 

"  I  '11  take  good  care  of  the  beauties,  Mr. 
Wells.  I  believe  in  bein'  kind  to  hosses.  It 's 
my  religion.*1 

"  Your  religion  is  good  so  far  as  it  goes,  John; 
but  I  hope  it  is  not  restricted  to  the  horses." 

"  I  'm  no  stricter  with  'em  than  I  orter  be. 
They  're  the  best  span  of  hosses  in  Maine,  and 
I  '11  look  out  for  'em  as  long  as  they  're  in  my 
keepin',  sir." 

"  All  right,  John.  Here 's  half  a  dollar  to 
pay  you  for  waiting." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I  ?d  like  to  wait  seven  eve- 
nin's  in  a  week  on  the  same  terms." 

James  was  detained  three  days  at  G-lenville. 
On  his  return,  George  made  arrangements  with 

him    for    educating    the    Bently   girls.     James 
IT 


258  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

cheerfully  accepted  the  trust,  and  added  a  thou 
sand  dollars  to  the  fund  set  apart  for  that  pur 
pose. 

"  I  shall  provide  for  Robbie  myself,  James. 
Bessie  Jones  is  going  to  teach  him  book-keeping 
this  winter,  and  I  will  take  him  into  my  office 
next  year." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  feel  an  interest  in  his  welfare. 
His  father  was  an  intelligent  man,  and  Robbie 
closely  resembles  him.  There  is  something  in 
the  boy,  and,  under  proper  influences,  he  will 
make  more  than  an  average  man." 

"Bessie  Jones  will  make  a  man  of  him, 
James.  She  has  planned  for  me,  and  I  heartily 
indorse  her  scheme." 

"  I  know  she  thinks  a  great  deal  of  Robbie. 
She  has  spoken  so  favorably  of  him  that  I 
thought  of  putting  him  in  my  office  if  he 
wished  it;  but  your  plan  is  better." 

"  I  must  go  and  see  Mr.  Lee  to-morrow,  and 
get  his  consent.  I  called  yesterday,  but  he 
wasn't  at  home." 

"  Mr.  Lee  will  not  give  him  up  without  com 
pensation." 

u  Bessie  thinks  he  will  gladly  let  him  go." 


George   Wells.  259 

"  She  does  n't  know  him  as  well  as  I  do." 

"He  says  Bobbie  don't  earn  the  bread  he 
eats." 

"That  is  his  way  of  talking,  Uncle.  He  is 
narrow  and  parsimonious.  He  will  riot  con 
sider  the  welfare  of  Bobbie,  but  will  measure 
the  matter  by  the  standard  of  dollars  and  cents." 

"  Then  I  must  buy  his  consent  with  dollars 
and  cents,  James." 

"  I  fear  you  will  have  to." 


"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Lee.  I  came  to  see  you 
in  regard  to  Bobbie  Bently." 

"Yes,  sir.  He  lives  with  me.  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  look  out  for  him  until  he  is  twenty- 
one,  but  he  is  a  poor  stick,  and  is  quite  a  burden 
to  me.  I  suppose  you  want  to  sell  him  a  suit 
of  clothes,  but  I  can't  afford  to  dress  him  any 
better.  He  '$  got  a  good  coat." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  clothing  business,  Mr.  Lee." 

"  I  guess  I  'm  mistaken  in  the  man.  I  took 
you  for  the  Glenville  tailor." 

"My  name  is  Wells.  I  live  at  Windsor, 
Nova  Scotia,  and  I  want  to  take  Bobbie  Bently 


260  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

there  next  year.  He  is  a  burden  to  you,  and  I  '11 
take  him  off  your  hands  if  you'll  let  me." 

"Yes;  he's  a  burden;  but  I've  got  used  to 
his  ways,  and  I  guess  I  '11  keep  him." 

"  He  will  suit  me,  Mr.  Lee,  and  I  '11  do  well 
by  him  if  you  '11  let  him  go.  I  want  to  put  him 
in  my  office,  and  will  pay  him  good  wages.  You 
certainly  want  to  see  him  get  ahead  in  the 
world." 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  I  'm  doing  a  good  part  by  the 
boy.  I  send  him  to  school  every  other  day,  and 
let  him  sleep  in  the  main  part  of  the  house." 

"  At  twenty-one  he  will  be  turned  out  into 
the  world  without  a  trade  or  other  means  of 
earning  a  livelihood.  I  will  teach  him  how  to 
conduct  a  lucrative  business." 

"  I  ain't  very  forehanded,  Mr.  Wells,  and  I 
can't  afford  to  let  Bob  go.  I  've  taken  care  of 
him  for  two  years,  and  he  is  getting  big  enough 
to  earn  his  living,  now." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  if  you  will 
let  him  go  next  winter." 

"  I  can't  let  him  go  for  a  hundred  dollars,  Mr. 
Wells.  He  has  three  years  to  stay  before  he 
will  be  of  age.  He  is  worth  three  hundred  dol- 


George   Wells.  261 

lars  a  year  to  me.  He  's  as  good  as  a  man,  in 
haying  time,  and  he  plants  potatoes,  feeds  the 
stock,  cuts  all  my  wood,  helps  my  wife  wash, 
and  does  a  great  many  other  things.  'T  would 
cost  me  three  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  hire  a 
man  to  fill  his  place/' 

"Then  he  isn't  such  a  'burden'  to  you,  after 
all." 

"  He  has  been  a  burden,  but  he  ain't  now. 
He 's  money  in  my  pocket,  and  I  'd  be  a  fool  to 
let  him  go." 

"Then  you  do  not  consider  how  much  he 
would  be  benefited  by  going  with  me?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  am  considering  S.  B.  Lee's  inter 
est  just  now;  not  Robert  Bently's." 

"Isn't  it  your  duty  to  help  the  boy?  or,  at 
least,  to  throw  no  obstacle  in  the  way  of  those 
who  are  willing  to  help  him  ? " 

"  I  think  it 's  my  duty  to  consult  my  own 
interest  in  the  matter,  sir.  I  presume  you  did 
not  call  to  teach  me  my  duty? " 

"  No,  sir.  I  called  for  the  purpose  of  aiding 
a  poor,  neglected  orphan,  and  I  am  resolved  to 
do  it,  either  with  or  without  your  consent." 

"  How   can   you  do  it  without   my  consent? 


262  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

He  was  bound  to  me  by  a  proper  officer,  and 
the  contract  is  legal." 

"  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  you  were  also 
bound  by  that  contract,  Mr.  Lee?" 

"Of  course  I  am  bound  by  it.  I  am  bound  to 
feed  and  clothe  him,  and  I  shall  keep  the  con 
tract." 

"  You  have  already  violated  it,  Mr.  Lee.  You 
were  bound  to  send  him  to  school  so  many 
months  in  each  year.  This  you  have  not  done. 
Even  the  coat  he  wears  was  given  him  by  a 
friend.  His  clothing  has  been  scanty  and  rag 
ged.  Why  is  he  called  'Kagged  Bob?'  Simply 
because  you  have  violated  your  contract  and 
have  not  dressed  him  decently.  You  knew  he 
was  friendless  arid  have  shamefully  abused  him ; 
but  he  is  friendless  no  longer  and  he  shall  be 
free  from  this  bondage." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"  I  am  going  to  see  lawyer  Ainsworth  and 
have  the  contract  annulled." 

Mr.  Lee  was  not  prepared  for  this.  He  knew 
that  he  had  broken  the  contract,  and  he  felt 
guilty.  There  was  something  in  George's  man 
ner  that  convinced  the  avaricious  guardian  that 


George   Wells.  263 

he  was  in  earnest,  and  would  take  steps  at  once 
for  the  release  of  the  bound  boy. 

"  I  do  n't  believe  you  can  have  the  contract 
annulled,  for  I  have  treated  him  as  well  as 
bound  boys  are  usually  treated;  but  I  have  no 
money  to  fool  away  in  a  law  suit.  I  '11  take  the 
hundred  dollars  and  let  him  go  next  winter  after 
he  gets  the  wood  cut." 

"  And  you  are  to  let  him  go  to  school  this 
winter,  and  to  Mrs.  Love's  evenings  to  learn 
book-keeping  of  Miss  Jones?" 

"I'll  let  him  go  to  school  every  other  day; 
and  I  do  n't  care  where  he  goes  evenings,  after 
he  gets  his  chores  done." 

"That  won't  do,  Mr.  Lee.  He  must  go  to 
school  regularly  this  winter." 

u  Well;  I  suppose  I  '11  have  to  let  him  go,  but 
I  can't  spare  him  very  well.  I  am  feeding  a 
good  deal  of  stock  this  winter." 

"  And  you  must  get  him  some  good,  warm 
clothing." 

"  All  right." 

"  Here  's  your  hundred  dollars." 

George  wrote  an  article  of  agreement,  which 
was  signed  by  Mr.  Lee,  and  took  his  departure. 


264  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

He  must  see  Eobbie  and  get  his  consent  to  liis 
plans.  Thus  far  he  and  Bessie  had  proceeded 
without  consulting  the  bound  boy. 


"And  so  you've  been  talking  about  rne  to 
Mr.  Wells,  have  you?  I've  a  notion  to  give 
you  a  good  licking,  young  man.'1 

"No,  sir.     I  have  n't." 

"  Do  n't  lie  to  me.  Bob.  How  did  he  know 
you  only  went  to  school  every  other  day;  and 
how  did  he  know  that  Bessie  Jones  gave  you 
that  coat?" 

"  I  told  him  about  Bessie  giving  me  the  coat; 
but  I  did  n't  talk  about  you." 

"And  you  told  him  I  abused  you,  and  you 
wanted  to  leave  me  and  go  to  Nova  Scotia  with 
him?" 

"  No,  sir.  He  has  n't  said  anything  to  me 
about  going  to  Nova  Scotia." 

"Do  you  want  to  go?1' 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  should  like  to  go  if  you  will  let 
me." 

"  Then  you  want  to  leave  me?  " 
"Yes,  sir." 


George   Wells.  265 

"Why  do  you  want  to  leave  me,  Bob?  r 

"Because  it  doesn't  seem  like  home  to  me 
here." 

"Have  I  not  treated  you  kindly?" 

"  No,  sir.  You  are  always  finding  i'ault  with 
me,  and  telling  me  that  I  'm  a  burden  to  you." 

"And  you  told  Mr.  Wells  so?" 

"  No,  sir.     I  did  n't." 

"  Then  how  did  he  find  it  out? " 

"I  don't  know.  It's  common  talk.  The 
boys  at  school  are  always  calling  me  '  Kagged 
Bob '  and  '  Lee's  burden.'  I  suppose  you  talk 
to  others  the  same  as  you  do  to  me.'' 

"Do  you  think  you'll  fare  any  better  with 
Mr.  Wells  than  you  do  here?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  think  he  will  be  kind  to  me." 

"  And  these  are  the  thanks  I  get  for  keeping 
an  object  of  charity  from  the  poor  house." 

"  I  am  not  an  object  of  charity,  Mr.  Lee.  I 
have  worked  very  hard  for  you,  and  I  know  I 
have  earned  my  board  and  clothing.  Fred  Ball 
gets  twelve  dollars  a  month  for  doing  less  work 
than  I  do  for  you,  and  you  have  never  given  me 
a  dollar.  I  can't  have  a  pair  of  skates,  a  hand- 
sled  or  any  of  the  things  that  other  boys  have. 


266  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

In  the  two  years  that  I  Lave  lived  with  you  1 
haven't  had  a  cent  until  Mr.  Wells  gave  me 
some  for  stopping  his  team  when  it  was  running 
away." 

"  How  much  did  he  give  you? " 

"  Ten  dollars." 

"  Ten  dollars!     What  have  you  done  with  it?" 

"  I  Ve  got  it  laid  away." 

"  Go  and  bring  it  to  me." 

"  Oh,  please,  Mr.  Lee,  let  me  keep  it.  I  want 
to  save  it  towards  getting  a  plain  stone  for 
mother's  grave." 

"  Bring  it  to  me  at  once,  I  say.  Why  did  n  t 
you  tell  me  of  it  before?  It 's  as  bad  as  stealing 
to  keep  money  secreted  that  belongs  to  me." 

"  It  do  n't  belong  to  you,  Mr.  Lee.  Mr.  Wells 
gave  it  to  me/' 

"And  you  are  a  bound  boy,  and  everything 
you  earn  belongs  to  me." 

"  I  did  n't  earn  it.     'T  was  a  gift." 

"All  that  is  given  to  you  is  mine.  You're  a 
fine  specimen  to  talk  about  buying  tombstones. 
Bring  me  the  money  at  once,  and  if  you  say  a 
word  about  it  to  anybody,  I  ?11  lick  you  within 
an  inch  of  your  life." 


George   Wells. 


267 


With  tears  of  regret  the  bound  boy  gave  up 
his  treasure.  And  Mr.  Lee  walked  forth  into 
the  bright,  glad  sunlight,  and  breathed  the  same 
pure  air  as  those  who  wear  more  than  the  sem 
blance  of  manhood. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

ODDS    AND    ENDS. 

^fEEE'S  more  trouble,  Elijah." 
I T        «  What 's  up  now,  father? " 

u  Harry  Jones  has  brung  a  suit  agin  me 
for  his  intrust  in  the  place." 

a  Who  brung  it  for  him? " 

"  Mr.  King;  that  red-headed  cuss  that  sent  us 
to  Thomaston.  I  've  already  paid  forty- three 
thousand  dollars  for  that  infernal  place." 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"I  paid  five  thousand  in  the  fust  place, 
didn't  I?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  I  paid  Bessie  Jones  eight  thousand 
more,  didn't  I?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  paid  'Squire  Gray  thirty  thousand  to 
get  us  out  of  the  penitenshary,  didn't  I?" 

"  Yes." 

(208 


Odds  and  Ends.  269 

"Well,  that  makes  forty-three  thousand, 
don't  it?" 

"Slmre's  you're  born." 

"  Then  I  paid  Jack  Blunt  and  Tom  Siddons 
fifty  dollars  for  apprisin'  it,  didn't  I?" 

«  Yes." 

"  How  much  does  that  make,  Elijah? " 

"  Wait  'till  I  git  my  slate." 

"You  orter  be  able  to  do  that  sum  in  your 

head." 

"They   didn't   teach   no   mental   'rithmetick 

when  I  went  to  skule." 

"So  they  didn't.  Skules  has  changed,  like 
everything  else." 

"  Yes  ;  and,  like  everything  else,  they  've 
changed  for  the  wus.  Accordin'  to  skules 
now-a-days,  I  don't  know  nothin'." 

"  You'll  never  die  of  depreshun  of  the  brain, 

Elijah." 

"  No.     If  things  keeps  on  I  '11  die  in  the  poor 

house." 

"So  you  will." 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  about  Harry  Jones, 

father?" 


270  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  see  'Squire  Gray.     You  may 
saddle  up  old  Charley  and  I  '11  start." 
"  I  '11  have  him  ready  in  a  minit." 


"'Squire,  Harry  Jones  is  after  me  for  his 
intrust  in  the  place." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Deacon?" 
"  That 's  what  I  'm  here  to  find  out." 
"  I  think  you  'd  better  compromise  with  him. 
He'll  get  Ainsworth  to  fight  it  for  him,  and 
you  '11  get  whipped  every  time.     Jack  Blunt  has 
been  blowing  about  that  appraisement." 

"  I  wish  I  had  him  here.  I  'd  make  him  smart 
for  it." 

"  The  mischief  is  done,  and  it 's  too  late  to 
talk  about  '  makin'  him  smart '  now.  You 
should  have  made  him  smart  enough  to  keep 
his  tongue  still." 

"  What  do  you  s'pose  Harry  '11  charge  me? " 
"  I  don't  know.     Two  or  three  thousand  dol 
lars,  probably.     Perhaps  more." 

"Yes;  it  will  be  shure  to  be  more,  'Squire." 
"Do  you  want  me  to  go  and  see  him?" 


Odds  and  Ends.  271 

"  I  guess  I  '11  go  and  see  him  myself.  Maybe 
I  can  beat  him  down  a  little." 

"  All  right,  Deacon.     Yon  go  and  see  him." 

"Look  a  here,  'Squire;  folks  don't  call  me 
Deacon  no  more,  and  if  it 's  all  the  same  to  you, 
I  wish  you  'd  quit  it." 

"  It 's  all  the  same  to  me,  Dea  —  Mr.  Wells. 
I  '11  call  you  Mr.  Wells  after  this." 

"  Or  Ilezekiah,  which  is  all  one  to  me." 

"All  right." 

Hezekiah  mounted  old  Charley  and  called  on 
Harry  Jones.  He  was  referred  to  Mr.  Ains- 
worth.  He  tried  to  settle  the  matter  with 
Harry,  but  was  informed  that  "  Mr.  Ainsworth 
knew  all  about  it."  He  went  back  to  Esquire 
Gray  and  reported  the  result  of  his  interview. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go  and  see  Ainsworth 
yourself,  Mr.  Wells." 

"  I  do  n't  want  no  dealings  with  him,  'Squire. 
He 's  too  sharp  for  me.  I  've  tried  him  afore. 
If  I  go  to  him  lie  '11  rig  a  purchase  to  make  me 
pay  Harry  Jones'  lawyer's  fee." 

"  Well;  I  '11  go  and  see  him  to-morrow.  What 
is  the  highest  price  I  'm  authorized  to  offer? " 

"  It 's   the   lowest    price   I  'm   after,    'Squire. 


272  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

You  're   authorized   to   offer    the    lowest    price 

that'll  bring  it." 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  get  it  as  low  as  I  can;  but 

suppose  he  should  ask  six  thousand  dollars?" 
"  Git  it  for  live  if  you  can,  'Squire." 
"All  right.     I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  yon." 
"  Do  n't  offer  more  'n  three  thousand  on  the 

start." 

"  I  won't.     How  shall  I  fix  the  time  of  pay 
ment?" 

f'Make     it     in     semmy    anneral     payments, 

'Squire." 

"  That  is  rather  short  time,  Mr.  Wells.     The 

first    installment    of  your   wife's   alimony   will 

be   due    in    about    four    months,  and  you   will 

have  a  great  deal  of  money  to  raise." 

"  It  ain't  due  for  nigh  onto  two  years,  'Squire. 

It 's  in  semmy  anneral  payments." 

"  Certainly.    Five  thousand  every  six  months." 
"  No.     Five  thousand  every  two  years." 
"You're  mistaken,  Mr.  Wells.     Semi-annual 

means  half  yearly.     You  will  have   to  pay  five 

thousand  dollars  every  six  months." 

"  Then  I  'm  ruined,  'Squire.    I  thought  semmy 

anneral  was  every  two  years.     I  can't  sell  prop- 


Odds  and  Ends.  273 

erty  fast  enough  to  pay  five  thousand  dollars 
every  six  months." 

"  Perhaps  you  can  get  the  time  extended  by 
paying  eight  or  ten  per  cent,  interest." 

"  That  will  be  orful,  'Squire.  I  'm  payin'  ten 
per  cent,  on  the  Bessie  Jones  morgidge,  now, 
and  I  can't  stan'  no  more  ten  per  cents." 

"  I  supposed  you  understood  the  matter,  or  I 
should  have  asked  the  Court  to  extend  the  time. 
You  made  no  objection  then." 

"  'Cause  I  s'posed  it  was  once,  in  two  years. 
Can't  you  ask  the  Court  to  give  me  more  time? " 

"  It 's  too  late  now.  The  judgment  has  been 
entered  on  the  record." 

"  I  can't  pay  it.  They  '11  have  to  take  what 
little  I  've  got  and  send  me  to  the  poor  house. 
You  can  tell  'em  so,  'Squire,  and  maybe  they  '11 
give  me  more  time." 

"  I  '11  see  Mr.  Ainsworth.     He  's  her  attorney." 

"Tell  him  jest  how  'tis,  'Squire." 

"  I  will." 


"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ainsworth?" 
"All  right,  Mr.  Gray.     Take  a  seat." 


18 


274  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  I  've  come  to  see  you  again  in  regard  to 
Deacon  Wells'  business." 

"  He  has.  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  his  old 
age,  and  it  is  the  result  of  his  own  misdeeds." 

"Yes,  sir.  He's  in  trouble  now  about  his 
wife's  alimony  and  Harry  Jones'  suit." 

"  Does  he  think  he  can  reduce  the  alimony?  " 

"  No,  sir.  He  thought  the  payments  were 
biennial,  instead  of  semi-annual.  He  cannot 
meet  them,  and  asks  for  further  time." 

"  I  think  there  will  be  no  trouble  in  extending 
the  time.  I  will  see  Mrs.  Wells  about  it." 

"  She  will  probably  be  governed  by  your 
advice.  Will  you  advise  her  to  extend  the 
time?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  have  no  desire  to  persecute  the 
old  hypocrite.  He  has  been  severely  punished 
already.  Now  what  do  you  wish  to  know  about 
Harry  Jones'  case?" 

"  I  want  to  compromise  it  for  the  very  lowest 
sum  that  you  will  take." 

"  All  right.  It  is  generally  the  best  way  to 
dispose  of  a  lawsuit.  Mr.  Jones  will  compro 
mise  and  give  a  quit-claim  deed  for  four  thou 
sand  dollars." 


Odds  and  Ends.  275 

"  I  can  get  five  thousand  out  of  my  client,  Mr. 
Ainsworth.  Had  n't  we  better  settle  with  Harry 
for  four  and  divide  the  other  thousand  between 
us?" 

"  I  do  n't  practice  law  that  way,  Mr.  Gray. 
An  attorney  that  will  attempt  a  trick  of  that 
kind  should  be  disbarred." 

"  I  mean  it  for  fees,  you  know.  You  made 
my  client  pay  Bessie's  fees;  why  not  let  him 
pay  Harry's  in  the  same  way?" 

"  That  was  a  very  different  matter,  Mr.  Gray. 
I  charged  Deacon  Wells  the  regular  commission 
for  selling  his  hemlock  bark,  and  charged  Bessie 
Jones  no  attorney's  fee.  It  was  a  legitimate 
transaction,  open  and  fair.  No  one  was 
wronged  by  it,  and  Bessie  Jones  was  benefited." 

"Well;  it  shall  be  just  as  you  say.  I  only 
wanted  fair  play  between  the  parties.  If  a  man 
tries  to  take  the  advantage  of  orphan  children, 
as  my  client  did,  I  believe  in  letting  him  pay  for 
it.  You  will  charge  Harry  five  hundred  dollars, 
I  suppose?" 

"  No,  sir.  If  the  case  is  compromised  I  shall 
charge  him  nothing.  Mr.  King  brought  the  suit 


276  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

before  he  went  West,  and  I  have  had  but  little 
work  to  do." 

"  It  is  n't  the  amount  of  work  an  attorney  does 
that  should  determine  his  fees.  It 's  the  amount 
of  good  he  does  his  client." 

"  That  depends  very  much  on  who  the  attor 
ney  is,  Esquire.  I  try  to  charge  according  to 
the  work  1  do." 

"  An  attorney  will  not  get  rich  if  he  charges 
on  that  principle." 

"  That  will  depend  very  much  on  the  amount 
of  work  he  does." 

"  Do  n't  you  do  more  work  in  defending  a 
criminal,  for  the  paltry  sum  of  five  or  ten  dol 
lars,  than  in  collecting  a  thousand-dollar  note  for 
which  you  get  fifty?  " 

"  We  have  a  fixed  price  for  collections,  except 
ing  cases  that  are  closely  litigated;  but  I 
sometimes  defend  a  criminal  for  nothing.  It 
depends  on  my  client's  ability  to  pay.  If  he 
is  abundantly  able  to  pay  fees  I  charge  him 
the  same  as  I  would  for  equal  labor  in  a 
civil  case.  If  he  is  very  poor  I  charge  him 
nothing." 


Odds  and  Ends.  277 

"Don't  you  charge  a  man  more  when  you 
gain  a  case  than  when  you  lose  it? " 

"  No,  sir.  I  do  the  best  I  can  for  my  client, 
and  my  services  are  worth  as  much  when  I  fail 
as  when  I  succeed.  If  a  man  has  a  bad  case  he 
should  not  hold  his  attorney  responsible  for  his 
failure.  If  he  has  a  good  case,  his  attorney 
should  not  charge  an  exorbitant  fee  simply 
because  he  succeeds  where  failure  would  be  the 
result  of  carelessness  or  neglect." 

"  You  have  an  odd  way  of  charging  fees,  Mr. 
Ainsworth." 

"  It 's  an  honest  way,  Esquire." 

"  Perhaps  it  is;  but  it  don't  seem  to  me  that 
it  would  work  well  in  all  cases/' 

"I  find  that  it  works  well  for  me.  I  don't 
dictate  to  my  fellow  members  of  the  Bar." 

"But  you  never  get  a  big  fee  under  your 
rule." 

"  I  get  what  my  services  are  worth.  I  have 
no  right  to  ask  more." 

"  Well ;  we  are  getting  off  the  subject.  What 
are  your  terms  of  payment  for  Harry  Jones' 
interest?" 

"  One  thousand  dollars  down,  and  three  thou- 


2  78  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

sand  in  either  annual  or  biennial  payments,  with 
ten  per  cent,  interest,  payable  annually." 

"  You  may  draw  up  the  papers,  making  the 
payments  biennial." 

"All  right.  I  will  make  out  the  papers 
to-morrow." 


"You  must  come  up  to  Mrs.  Love's  every 
evening,  Eobbie.  I  want  to  teach  you  to  keep 
books,  write  letters,  and  make  yourself  generally 
useful,  so  that  you  can  go  to  Nova  Scotia  next 
year." 

"  I  '11  come  to  Mrs.  Love's,  Miss  Jones;  but  I 
can't  go  to  Nova  Scotia." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Mr.  Lee  won't  let  me.  I  'm  bound,  you 
know." 

"Yes;  you're  bound  to  go,  Eobbie.  Mr. 
Wells  has  made  the  arrangement  with  Mr.  Lee, 
and  you  are  to  go  to  him  next  winter." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad.  I  want  to  go  so  much.  I 
know  this  is  some  of  your  work,  and  I  can't 
repay  you  for  your  kindness." 

"  Yes  you  can,  Eobbie." 


Odds  and  Ends.  279 

"How?" 

"  By  trying  very  hard  to  learn." 

"  I  can  learn  without  trying  very  hard,  now. 
I  feel  like  a  new  boy,  already.  It  will  be  so  nice 
to  be  free  again." 

"  Mr.  Wells  is  very  kind,  Robbie;  and  if  you 
please  him,  he  will  do  all  in  his  power  to  make 
you  happy." 

"  If  I  can  be  useful  I  shall  be  very  happy, 
Miss  Jones." 

"  You  have  much  to  learn  before  you  can  be 
useful  to  Mr.  Wells,  Robbie.  He  wants  you  to 
keep  books  and  attend  to  his  correspondence. 
You  must  learn  to  write  a  good  hand,  use  good 
language,  and  punctuate  correctly." 

"  I  '11  do  it,  Miss  Jones.  I  '11  study  every 
evening,  and  you  shall  see  how  fast  I  will  learn." 

The  glad  light  in  the  bound  boy's  eyes  was 
Bessie's  reward.  What  were  Robbie's  thoughts? 
"  I  '11  buy  a  stone  for  mother's  grave." 


"  Here  is  some  good  news,  Bessie.  Mr.  Ains- 
worth  has  compromised  with  Deacon  Wells,  and 
I  'm  to  have  fcur  thousand  dollars." 


280  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Your  good  fortune  comes  all  at  once,  Harry. 
James  Wells  wants  you  in  his  law  office." 

"  What  can  I  do  in  a  law  office,  Bessie? " 

"  Copy  papers,  and  read  law,  I  suppose. 
James  says  you  will  be  useful,  and  I  imagine 
he  knows.  He  wants  some  one  to  take  charge 
of  his  office  while  he  is  in  Washington." 

"  To  sit  in  a  chair  and  tell  his  clients  that  he 
is  in  Congress.  He  can  put  a  card  on  his  office 
door  that  will  do  as  well." 

"  He  says  you  will  make  a  good  office  lawyer, 
by  a  little  application.  He  has  a  fine  library 
which  will  be  at  your  service,  and  when  he 
returns  your  knowledge  will  be  of  great  value  to 
him." 

"  And  if,  in  the  meantime,  a  client  should  pro 
pound  a  question,  what  could  I  do?" 

"  Look  wise  and  —  tell  him  you  don't  know." 

"  So  I  could ;  and  lie  would  believe  me,  unhes 
itatingly." 

"James  wants  you,  Harry,  and  I  hope  you 
will  conclude  to  go.  'Twill  be  so  pleasant  for 
me  to  have  you  in  Elton  this  winter." 

"  It  is  you  he  wants,  Bessie.  I  cannot  con 
sent  to  go  where  I  can  be  only  a  burden." 


Odds  and  Ends.  281 

"  You  will  not  be  a  burden.  If  he  did  not 
need  you  lie  would  not  ask  you  to  go  into  his 
office." 

"He  is  good  and  noble,  Bessie,  and  he  wants 
me  there  simply  to  make  it  pleasant  for  you; 
not  for  any  service  that  I  can  render." 

"  I  '11  admit  that  he  is  good  and  noble,  Harry ; 
and  he  is  also  frank  and  truthful.  He  is  above 
duplicity,  even  for  a  good  purpose.  If  he 
wanted  you  to  go  solely  on  my  account,  he 
would  freely  tell  you  so.  Wait  until  you  talk 
with  him  before  you  decline  his  offer.  He  has 
made  it  wholly  independent  of  me,  and  I  firmly 
believe  that  you  will  both  be  benefited  by  your 
labor  in  his  office." 

"  All  right,  sister.  I  '11  accept  his  offer,  and  I 
hope  you  will  be  equally  discreet." 

"  I  have  already  accepted  him,  Harry.  He  is 
a  true  man,  and  I  do  not  fear  to  place  my  happi 
ness  in  his  keeping." 

"  I  shall  be  very  proud  of  my  brother-in-law." 

"  And  I  shall  be  very  proud  of  my  husband. 
A  year  has  made  a  great  change  in  our  lives, 
Harry.  A  year  ago  we  were  struggling  to  keep 
the  wolf  from  our  door.  Now  we  have  enough 


282  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

to  support  us,  and  bright  prospects  for  a  happy 
future.  Surely,  God  has  been  very  good  to  us, 
and  I  feel  like  consecrating  my  life  to  His 
service." 

"  You  have  been  faithful  from  your  childhood 
up,  dear  sister,  and  you  are  receiving  your 
reward.'' 

"  I  have  done  so  little  good  in  the  world, 
Harry." 

"  You  have  spent  your  life  in  doing  good.  I 
tremble  when  I  think  of  what  I  would  be  with 
out  you.  In  our  dark  days  your  faith  and  gentle 
teaching  saved  me.  Even  now  I  should  be  lost 
in  doubt  but  for  your  guidance." 

"  You  cannot  doubt  that  God  is  good." 
"  I  do  not  doubt  that  He  is  good  to  you  and  to 
me,  Bessie,  but  there  are  so  many  deserving  ones 
that  He  forgets." 

"  He  does  not  forget  them,  Harry." 
"  He  permits  them  to  suffer  so  much." 
"  It  is  for  some  wise  purpose.     Everything  in 
nature  testifies  to  His  goodness.    This  we  cannot 
doubt.     While   there   is   much  that  we  cannot 
comprehend,  we  can  understand  His   love  and 
His  mercy;  His  munificence  and  His  care." 


Odds  and  Ends.  283 

"  I  know  it,  Bessie.  When  you  are  near  me  I 
never  doubt;  but  when  you  are  absent,  God 
seems  a  great  way  off." 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  try  to  get  near 
Him,  Harry." 

"I  will  try  to  live  nearer  to  Him  in  the  future, 
sister." 

"  You  will  find  that  He  is  very  near  you,  when 
you  earnestly  invoke  His  presence." 


"You  must  go  with  me  to  Washington, 
mother.  I  shall  be  very  lonely  without  you, 
and  it  will  do  you  good  to  see  a  little  of  the 
world." 

" Don't  urge  me  to  go,  James." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  should  feel  sadly  out  of  place.  I  want  to 
stay  here  and  take  care  of  the  house." 

"I  shall  shut  the  house  up,  mother." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  your  horses  and 
cow?" 

"  Board  them  out." 

"Then  there's  the   cat  and  the  birds.     You 


284  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

have  quite  a  family,  James,  and  yon  had  better 
let  me  stay  and  take  care  of  them." 

"  They  shall  be  provided  for,  mother.  I  can't 
get  along  without  you.  If  you  are  not  happy 
there  you  can  return  and  open  the  house;  but 
you  need  a  change.  You  look  weary,  and  I 
know  you  will  be  benefited  by  a  visit  to 
Washington." 

"  I  cannot  enjoy  Washington  society,  James. 
I  prefer  this  quiet  life." 

"  There  are  real  folks  in  Washington,  mother. 
You  need  not  mingle  with  the  gay  and  thought 
less.  Society  is  much  as  it  is  in  other  cities. 
We  have  the  good  and  the  bad;  the  real  and 
the  seeming.  You  can  choose  your  associates." 

"  The  fact  that  I  am  a  divorced  wife  is  an  ever 
present  sorrow,  my  dear  boy.  I  do  not  want  any 
associates.  I  do  not  want  to  mingle  with  the 

O 

world.    I  feel  the  disgrace,  and  cannot  forget  it." 
"You  are  not  disgraced.     You   are  honored 

and  loved  by  all  who  know  you,  mother." 

"  I  am  '  honored  and  loved  '  by  a  dutiful  son; 

and  I  know  I  am  selfish  in  my  sorrow.     You 

have  done  so  much  to  make  me  happy,  James, 


Odds  and  Ends.  285 

that  1  sometimes  feel  guilty  because  I  cannot 
fully  enjoy  all  that  your  kind  care  and  thought 
ful  attention  provide;  but  the  old,  tired  feeling 
comes  unbidden,  and  I  cannot  shake  it  off. 
Leave  me  here,  and  let  me  rest  until  you 
return." 

"!No,  mother;  you  must  go  with  me.  There 
is  a  place  in  the  great  world  for  you.  Your 
work  is  not  done." 

It  is  seldom  that  a  strong  man's  will  is  suc 
cessfully  opposed  by  woman.  Patience  "Wells 
went  to  Washington.  James  secured  rooms  in 
a  private  boarding  house,  with  a  pleasant  family, 
introduced  his  mother  to  a  few  of  his  tried 
friends,  took  her  through  the  public  buildings, 
accompanied  her  to  church,  and  spent  all  his 
leisure  hours  in  her  cosy  sitting  room.  He  was 
chairman  of  an  important  committee,  and  was 
emphatically  a  "working  member,"  yet  he 
devoted  much  time  to  his  mother,  and  did 
everything  in  his  power  to  make  her  visit  to 
the  Capital  City  profitable  and  pleasant.  She 
was  a  good  conversationist,  and  her  society  was 
sought  by  a  circle  of  admiring  friends.  While 
she  was  comparatively  ignorant  of  the  ways  of 


286  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

the  world,  her  rare  good  sense  and  ready  tact 
enabled  her  to  avoid  mistakes.  She  was  active 
in  public  and  private  charities,  active  in  the 
church,  and  foremost  in  all  good  works. 
James  was  liberal,  and  she  was  his  almoner. 
He  managed  to  bring  her  in  contact  with 
those  whom  he  knew  would  be  congenial, 

o 

hoping  by  that  means  to  cause  her  to  forget 
the  past  and  live  only  in  the  present.  His 
father's  name  was  never  mentioned,  and  he 
imagined  that  the  wounds  were  healing.  He 
did  not  dream  that  his  mother  was  making  a 
great  sacrifice  to  please  him. 

"  My  letter  was  from  Bessie,  James." 

"  I  supposed  so,  mother.  The  superscription 
had  a  familiar  look." 

"  She  says  Eobbie  Bently  is  getting  along 
finely  with  his  studies.  He  is  already  proficient 
in  book-keeping,  and  she  sent  a  specimen  of  his 
penmanship  that  is  very  creditable." 

"  I  am  glad  he  is  making  rapid  progress.  It 
is  no  more  than  I  expected.  Bessie  is  very 
anxious  for  his  success,  and  she  will  strive  to 
qualify  him  for  his  work." 

"  Bessie  is  a  dear,  good  girl,  James." 


Odds  and  Ends.  287 

"  We  agree  on  that  point,  mother.  I  heartily 
indorse  your  sentiments,  and  shall  vote  in  the 
affirmative." 

"  Come,  my  boy;  you  are  not  in  the  House." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  street,  mother." 

"  You  might  as  well  be  in  the  street,  for  I 
can't  make  you  talk  seriously  about  Bessie 
Jones." 

"  That 's  because  I  do  n't  feel i  serious  '  when  I 
think  of  her." 

"  It  is  time  for  you  to  think  seriously  of  mar 
rying  her,  my  son." 

"  I  'in  ready,  mother.  The  ceremony  may  be 
performed  whenever  it  suits  you  and  Bessie." 

"  I  am  not  to  be  consulted  in  the  matter/' 

"Then  you  don't  believe  in  match-making? " 

"  No,  I  do  not.  Two  can  wind  yarn  success 
fully,  but  when  the  third  party  interferes  the 
skein  is  tangled,  and  a  lifetime  will  prove  too 
short  to  unravel  it.  I  Ve  seen  too  many  un 
happy  marriages  grow  out  of  a  mother's  inter 
ference." 

"But  you  would  not  have  me  marry  without 
your  consent,  mother?" 

"  Your  wish  shall  be  my  law,  James.     Chil- 


288  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

dren  should  judge  for  themselves  in  a  matter  so 
important." 

"Yet  it  is  better  to  have  the  consent  of 
parents?" 

"Yes.  If  parents  and  children  act  wisely; 
but  it  is  often  the  case  that  children  yield  blind 
ly  to  the  wishes  of  parents,  and  find,  too  late, 
that  they  have  committed  a  fatal  error.  Mar 
riage  without  love  is  a  crime,  and  the  penalty  is 
more  than  death.  A  great  many  unfortunate 
marriages  result  from  the  unwise  dictation  of 
parents." 

"  That  is  true,  mother,  and  I  have  taken  the 
precaution  to  first  arrange  matters  and  then  ask 
your  consent." 

"  You  have  acted  wisely,  my  son.  When  are 
you  to  be  married?" 

"  I  shall  let  you  and  Bessie  determine  that 
matter." 

"  Let  Bessie  fix  the  time,  James.  She  is  the 
party  most  deeply  interested." 

"Am  not  I  as  deeply  interested,  mother? " 

"No." 

"  Why  not?" 

"  Simply  because  you  are  a  man.     A  woman 


Odds  and  Ends.  289 

resigns  everything  to  the  keeping  of  her  hus 
band  when  she  marries.  A  man  does  not  so 
completely  give  himself  up  to  his  wife.  He  has 
a  world  outside  of  his  home;  but  home  is  all  the 
world  to  the  wife." 

"  I  can't  see  it  in  that  light,  mother." 
"  I  see  it  from  a  woman's  standpoint,  James." 
u  It  shall  not  be  so  in  my  case,  mother.     My 
home  shall  be  as  much  my  world  as  Bessie's." 
"  You  will  be  very  happy  together.     She  is  a 
true  woman,  and  I  'm  glad  you  have  chosen  her. 
You  are  worthy  of  all  the  love  she  can  bestow." 
"  With  your  blessing  our  home  shall  be  bright 
and  happy,  dear  mother." 

"  God  will  bless  your  home,  my  boy." 
"  I  could  not  ask  His  blessing  if  yours  were 
withheld,  mother." 

"  It  is  His  province  to  bless  you;  mine  to  live 
in  a  borrowed  light." 


"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Wells.  I'm  on  my 
way  to  Mrs.  Gregg's,  and  I  have  called  for  you 
to  go  with  me.  We  want  the  assistance  of  all 

the  philanthropic  women  in  the  city." 
19 


290  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"I  am  not  a  philanthropist,  Mrs.  Derby;  but 
you  can  tell  me  the  object  of  your  meeting." 

"  We  want  to  establish  a  home  for  friendless 
women." 

"  Is  there  not  an  institution  of  that  kind 
already  established?" 

"Yes;  but  it  is  n't  well  managed.  There  are 
but  fewT  inmates,  and  no  effort  is  made  to  in 
crease  the  number.  The  city  is  full  of  fallen 
women,  and  we  propose  to  go  among  them,  con 
vince  them  that  we  are  really  interested  in  their 
welfare,  and  save  as  many  as  possible." 

"Would  it  not  be  better  to  co-operate  with 
the  managers  of  the  present  institution  than  to 
establish  another?" 

"  We  will  talk  that  over  at  Mrs.  Gregg's. 
The  impression  prevails  that  there  is  too  much 
silk  and  satin  about  the  present  institution.  It 
is  managed  by  fashionable  women,  whose  hearts 
are  not  in  the  work.  They  Hatter  the  men  who 
are  responsible  for  the  fall  of  some  of  the  in 
mates,  and  draw  their  costly  robes  about  them 
when  they  meet  a  fallen  sister,  as  though  the 
touch  would  contaminate  them.  We  want  earn 
est  workers,  Mrs.  Wells.  We  want  women." 


Odds  and  Ends.  291 

"  'T  is  my  conviction  that  the  way  to  work 
effectually  is  to  reform  the  men;  but  I  will  go 
with  you/' 

"We  can't  reform  the  men  without  the  co 
operation  of  fashionable  women.  They  do  not 
hold  a  man  responsible  for  his  sins.  Even 
mothers  fail  to  reprove  their  sons.  So  long  as 
this  state  of  affairs  exists,  we  can't  reform  the 
men," 

"And  so  long  as  men  are  base,  we  can't 
reform  the  women,  Mrs.  Derby." 

"  I  know  it  is  a  hard  task,  especially  in  this 
city ;  but  we  can  do  some  good.  I  do  n't  believe 
in  folding  our  hands  and  doing  nothing,  because 
we  can't  do  it  all,  Mrs.  "Wells." 

4-  Xeither  do  I.  We  will  go  to  work  and  do 
what  we  can.  Even  if  one  be  reclaimed,  we 
shall  be  compensated." 

Patience  Wells  worked  with  a  will  in  the  new 
field  that  had  been  opened  to  her.  She  was  sin 
gularly  successful  in  winning  the  erring  ones, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  many  years  she  forgot 
the  past  and  lived  for  others.  She  found  many 
who  gladly  left  the  haunts  of  vice  and  entered 
upon  a  new  life  with  a  determination  to  reform. 


292  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

Most  ot  these  were  reclaimed,  and  have  outlived 
their  sin.  A  small  number  —  too  weak  to  resist 
temptation  —  went  back  to  the  old  life,  and  are 
suffering  the  penalty  of  their  transgression. 
Patience  was  untiring  in  her  efforts  to  save 
them,  and  often  induced  them  to  enter  the 
"home"  a  second  time.  In  all  cases  —  where 
the  sin  was  not  inherent  —  she  worked  hope 
fully,  determined  to  do  her  whole  duty  and 
leave  the  result  with  Him  who  notes  the  fall 
ing  of  a  sparrow.  She  was  not  surprised  to  find, 
among  the  erring,  many  discarded  wives  who 
had  "  married  for  a  home."  To  these  her  heart 
went  out  in  sympathy,  for  she  knew  how  sorely 
they  were  tempted.  She  knew  that  the  libertine 
instinctively  sought  an  unloved  wife.  When 
will  the  mothers  in  our  land  learn  to  give  their 
daughters  a  practical  education,  and  place  them 
beyond  the  necessity  of  marrying  for  a  home? 
Until  this  lesson  is  learned  there  will  be  no  lack 
of  inmates  in  the  homes  for  friendless  women. 


"  Good   mornin',  sir.     Your   name 's   George 
Wells,  I  b'leve?" 


Odds  and  Ends.  293 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  "Well,  my  name  's  Jack  Blunt.  You  used  to 
know  me  when  I 's  a  little  boy.  I  've  been  a 
purty  hard  ticket  for  a  good  many  years,  but  if 
you  '11  give  me  somethin'  to  do  I  '11  reform  and 
be  a  man  agin." 

"What  can  you  do,  Jack?" 

"  I  'in  willin'  to  turn  my  hand  to  anything, 
sir.  I  can  load  plaster,  if  you  've  nothiii'  else 
for  me  to  do." 

"  I  have  a  dozen  idle  men  under  pay  now, 
Jack." 

"You  don't  pay  'em  when  they  don't  work, 
do  you?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  They  are  willing  to  work,  and  I 
can't  let  them  starve." 

'"  You  're  the  kind  of  a  boss  for  me.  I  '11 
take  a  wheelbarrer  at  a  shillin'  a  day,  ruther 
than  miss." 

"  I  do  n't  want  you  to  work  for  a  shilling  a  day. 
I  don't  need  you  at  any  price,  Jack;  but  if  you 
really  desire  to  reform  I  '11  give  you  work." 

"  That 's  what 's  the  matter  of  me.  I  'm  goin' 
to  reform.  Nelly,  that 's  my  darter,  is  gittin' 
well,  and  I  'm  goin'  to  git  a  little  home  for  her 


294  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

and  be  a  man  agin,  if  you  and  God  will  let 
me." 

"  That  is  an  irreverent  speech,  Jack." 

"What  kind  of  a  speech,  Mr.  Wells?" 

"  Irreverent ;  disrespectful.  You  should  not 
speak  of  God  in  that  manner.  He  will  let  you 
reform  and  will  help  you  if  you  will  ask  Him." 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Mr.  Wells.  I  hain't 
got  no  religion  and  I  'm  sorry  for  it.  I  wan't 
raised  that  way;  but  I'll  try  to  be  better  if 
you  '11  give  me  a  fair  chance." 

"  I  '11  give  you  work,  Jack,  and  you  must  ask 
God  to  make  you  better." 

"  Won't  He  say  <  It 's  nobody  but  Jack  Blunt,' 
if  I  ask  Him?" 

"  No.  Jack  Blunt  is  as  dear  to  Him  as  any 
of  His  creatures." 

"  But  He  knows  I  used  to  smuggle  rum." 

"  He  is  merciful  and  will  forgive  you  if  you 
ask  Him  in  the  right  spirit." 

"And  wTill  He  forgive  me  for  apprisin'  the 
Jones  place  too  low?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  cheatin'  at  ten  cent  ante?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 


Odds  and  Ends.  295 

"And  swindlin1  Uncle  Henry  out  o'  these 
boots?" 

"  No,  sir.  You  can  pay  for  the  boots.  You 
must  not  ask  God  to  forgive  you  for  a  wrong 
that  you  can  right." 

"All  right.  I'll  pay  for  these  boots  out  o' 
the  fust  money  I  git." 

"  I  '11  advance  you  the  money  to  pay  for  them 
if  you  wish  it." 

"  No,  sir.  Let  him  wait  till  I  earn  it.  He 
told  me  when  I  got  'em  that  I  'd  never  pay  for 
'em,  and  I  b'leved  him.  He  '11  be  pleasantly 
disappinted  when  he  gits  a  letter  from  Jack 
Blunt  inclosin'  five  dollars  for  these  boots." 

"  Do  you  owe  any  other  little  bills,  Jack?" 

"  No,  sir.  No  thin'  but  some  away  back,  and 
I  guess  God '11  have  no  trouble  forgittin'  them, 
'cause  I  've  almost  forgot  'em  myself." 

"  You  must  pay  them  up  and  commence 
right." 

"Jest  as  you  say,  Mr.  Wells." 

"You  will  feel  better  if  you  begin  right, 
Jack.  Honesty  pays  large  dividends." 

"  Then  I  want  to  git  into  it.  Do  you  think 
God  '11  forgive  me  for  swearin'  like  a  pirate? " 


296  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Yes.  He  will  forgive  you  if  you  ask  him  in 
the  right  spirit,  and  resolve  to  swear  no  more." 

"  He 's  got  a  big  contract,  Mr.  Wells;  but  I  '11 
take  your  word  for  it  and  stop  swearin'." 

"  You  must  take  His  word,  Jack.  Have  you 
a  Bible?" 

"No,  sir.  Kelly  had  one,  but  I  found  a  fam- 
ly  in  Elton  that  had  n't  got  none,  and  I  thought 
it  was  my  duty  to  give  it  to  'em.  I  hain't  had 
none  sense;  but  I  '11  git  one  as  soon  as  I  pay  for 
these  boots." 

"  Here  's  one  that  you  may  have,  Jack." 

"  Do  you  give  away  Bibles?" 

"Sometimes." 

"  I  guess  the  plaster  bizness  must  be  good  if 
you  can  'ford  to  pay  men  for  doin'  nothin'  and 
give  away  Bibles  to  boot." 

"I  don't  usually  pay  men  for  doing  nothing. 
These  are  dull  times,  Jack,  and  I  have  no  work 
for  some  of  my  men.  They  must  live,  you 
know." 

"  Do  you  take  it  out  o'  their  wages  when  they 
go  to  work  agin?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"Well,  you  air  an  odd  chicken.     I  've  lieered 


Odds  and  Ends.  297 

Parson  Green  talk  about  practising  Christians, 
but  you  're  the  fust  one  I  ever  met,  onless  it 
were  the  Parson  his  self." 

"  Then  you  've  heard  Parson  Green  preach?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  used  to  go  to  please  Nelly,  afore 
she  went  crazy.  I  hain't  went  to  no  good  places 
sense  Nelly  went  crazy.  Somehow  I  hain't  had 
no  appertite  for  good  things.  I  guess  the  devil's 
been  foolin'  'round  me/" 

"  You  say  Nellie  is  getting  better?  " 

'•  Yes,  sir.  Here 's  the  letter  that  says  she  's 
almost  well,  and  'twill  make  a  man  of  Jack 
Blunt  yit,  if  he  is  a  poor  coot." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"And  you  shan't  be  disappinted,  Mr.  ~\Vrells. 
I  've  got  somethin'  to  live  for  now.  I  got  sort  o' 
feckless  after  Nelly  was  took  away,  and  I  wan't 
an  angel  afore;  but  you'll  find  me  here  every 
time  from  this  on,  and  if  ever  I  swear  or  tell 
a  lie,  may  the  good  Lord  forgit  it  alongst  the 
balance  of  'em." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  going  to  try  to 
reform,  Jack/' 

"Try?  I'm  goin'  to  make  it.  You're  the 
fust  Christian,  exceptin1  Parson  Green,  that  ever 


298  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

tried  to  make  me  better.  Christians  is  alters  so 
fur  off  that  we  poor  devils  can't  git  to  'ern.  I 
did  n't  mind  the  Parson  'cause  I  thought  'twas 
his  reg'lar  bizness,  but  jour  bizness  is  shippin' 
land  plaster  and  I  know  you  're  in  dead  earnest 
when  you  ketch  a  feller  by  the  nap  o'  the  neck 
and  try  to  pull  him  into  Heaven." 

"  That 's  a  queer  way  to  get  a  man  to  Heaven, 
Jack.  You  must  remember  that  God,  alone, 
can  open  the  door  to  His  kingdom." 

"  He  might  open  the  door  till  the  cows  come 
home  and  we  poor  devils  would  never  find  it 
without  some  good,  geniwine  Christian  to  show 
us  the  way;  and  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for 
showin'  me  the  way,  Mr.  Wells." 

"  I  have  not  shown  you  the  way,  Jack.  Eead 
that  book  carefully,  ask  God  to  give  you  light, 
and  you  will  find  the  way." 

"Shall  I  come  to  you  when  I  git  stuck? " 

"  No." 

"Where  shall  I  go?" 

"  Go  to  God." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Wells ^I'll  go,  but  I  don't 
b'leve  He 's  knowd  me  sense  I  wore  trowsers." 

"  Seek  Him  in  a  proper  spirit,  Jack,  and  you 


Odds  and  Ends.  299 

will  find  Him.     Go  to  Him  to-night,  and  corne 
to  work  in  the  morning." 

<;  Thank  you,  sir.  I  '11  go,  and  come." 
Jack  Blunt  was  sincere  in  his  desire  to  go  to 
God.  The  kindness  of  Mr.  Wells  warmed  his 
heart  and  brought  forth  the  little  good  that  was 
in  it.  There  are  many  Jack  Blunts  in  the  world, 
but  they  do  not  find  a  George  Wells  to  pull  them 
through  when  they  "  get  stuck  "  in  the  slough 
of  doubt. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

HEELING   AND    TOEING. 

/I  i  AN  you  tap  'em  right  on  the  spot,  Uncle 
\[j     Henry?" 

"No,  Bob;  you'll  have  to  take  them 
off  your  feet." 

"I  mean,  can  you  tap  them  now?" 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  so?  " 

"Well,  most  anybody  but  you  would  under 
stood  me." 

"  What 's  your  great  hurry,  Bob?" 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  Spring  River  lake  after  trout  in 
the  mornin',  and  I  want  to  wear  'em." 

"The  trout?" 

"  No;  the  boots.  Me  and  Sam  White  is  goin' 
to  take  a  cold  bite  and  then  start  afore  break 
fast." 

"  You  '11  get  a  <  cold  bite '  before  you  get  back, 
if  this  weather  holds." 

"So  he  will,  Uncle  Henry.     He'll  find  that 

(300) 


Heeling  and  Toeing.  301 

the  wind  and  frost  and  everything  but  the  trout 

will  bite." 

"  Steve  Garret  ketched  a  nine  pound  trout  out 
o'  there  last  week,  and  I  'm  as  good  a  fisherman 
as  he  is." 

"  Did  you  see  that  trout? " 
"No;  but  I  heered  about  it." 
"  That  's  the  trouble.  You  are  always  hearing 
about  big  trout,  but  no  one  sees  them.  I've 
been  here  sixty  years,  and  have  fished  in  all  the 
lakes  between  the  Periobscot  and  St.  Croix,  but 
I  never  saw  one  of  the  regular  brook  trout  spe 
cies  that  measured  over  twenty-three  inches,  or 
weighed  over  five  pounds.  I  don't  believe 
there's  a  nine  pound  speckled  trout  in  the  State 
of  Maine.'1 

"  There  's  the  difference  'twixt  us.  I  believe 
Washington  county  is  full  of  'em." 

"  The  oldest  inhabitant  never  saw  them,  and 
the  latest  arrival  won't  live  long  enough  to  put 
his  two  eyes  on  them." 

<k  Wait  'till  I  git  back,  Uncle  Henry.  I  '11 
show  you  a  golly  -bus  ter,." 

"The  ice  is  two  feet  thick,  Bob,  and  you'll 
freeze  before  you  can  cut  a  hole  through  it." 


302  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Don't  fret  about  my  freezin'.  I  ain't  so 
dredful  tender." 

"  If  he  can  only  protect  his  head  he  '11  get 
through  all  right,  Uncle  Henry." 

"But  there's  the  rub,  Charles." 

"  And  it  '11  keep  him  rubbin'  all  the  time  to 
save  them  ears  o'  his." 

"  Give  us  a  rest,  Mountain  Jack.  You  ain't 
runnin'  this  show." 

"  If  I  was  I  'd  put  the  long  eared  critters  on 
the  other  side  of  the  stove,  and  give  the  *visiters 
a  chance  to  warm." 

"What  are  you  going  to  bait  with,  Bob?" 

"  Clams." 

"Shelled?" 

"  Of  course.  Who  ever  heered  of  a  trout  bit- 
in'  a  clam  that  wasn't  shelled?" 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  trout  biting  a  shelled 
clam?" 

"  I  have.  Steve  Garret  ketched  his  big  trout 
with  a  shelled  clam,  and  I  'm  goin'  to  git  one 
jest  like  it  for  the  mistress.  She  ain't  very 
well,  and  she  's  'mazin'  fond  of  'em." 

"Of  clams?" 

"  No,  trout." 


Heeling  and  Toeing.  303 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  so? " 

"  I  did,  but  you  could  n't  understand.  Seems 
to  me  you  're  all  dredful  dull  this  evenin'." 

"We're  too  sharp  to  believe  your  big  trout 
story." 

"  Seein's  believin',  and  I  '11  show  you  when  I 
git  back." 

"  I  hope  you  '11  get  a  trout  for  the  teacher, 
Bob;  but  I  '11  make  you  a  pair  of  boots  for  every 
pound  he  weighs  over  five." 

"  Then  you  need  n't  be  so  dredful  pertickeler 
about  mendin'  them  old  ones.  I  '11  have  two  or 
three  new  pair  comin'  when  I  git  back." 

"  I  guess  I  '11  peg  these  soles  on  pretty  stout. 
You  '11  have  to  wear  them  awhile." 

"Did  you  say  Miss  Jones  isn't  very  well, 
Bob?" 

"  That 's  jest  what  I  said.  You  seem  to  under 
stand  that  well  enough;  but  you  needn't  worry 
about  her.  Jim  Wells  will  take  her  in  tow 
when  he  gits  back  from  Congress." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her? " 

u  She 's  been  working  nights  to  git  Ragged 
Bob  ready  to  go  to  Novy  Skoshy." 

"  How  is  he  getting  along? " 


3°4  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Fust  rate.  lie  can  pass  any  sentence  in  the 
book,  and  he  writes  as  purty  as  the  teacher, 
already,  and  he  do  n't  have  to  go  'til  next  fall." 

"  I  'm  glad  Robbie  is  going.  He  's  a  bright 
boy  and  he  deserves  a  good  chance." 

"They  say  old  Wells  is  goin'  to  give  him  a 
big  send  off  when  he  gits  him  there." 

"  I  hope  he  will.  The  poor  fellow  has  had  a 
hard  time  at  Mr.  Lee's." 

"Bound  boys  allers  has  a  hard  time,  don't 
they,  Charley? " 

"  Not  always.     Johnny  Bell  is  happy." 

"  Yes,  but  Johnny  is  bound  to  a  Christian." 

"  Is  n't  Robbie  Bently  bound  to  a  Christian? " 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  Mr.  Lee  ain't  Chris 
tian  enough  to  hurt  him  any;  but  Mr.  Noel  is 
an  every  day  Christian.  He 's  allers  good ; 
while  Mr.  Lee  is  good  by  spells.  Mr.  Noel  is 
one  of  Parson  Green's  Christians,  and  they  're  a 
mighty  sight  better  than  common  ones." 

"  Mr.  Lee  always  conducts  himself  like  a 
Christian.  He  seems  to  me  a  very  devout 
man." 

"What's  devout?" 

"Pious." 


Heeling  and  Toeing.  305 

"  That 's  because  yon  do  n't  know  him.  He 's 
like  lots  of  other  Christians;  all  right  'til  yon 
git  clost  to  him.  There 's  a  devil  in  him  big- 
ger'n  a  hedge-hog.  He'd  do  anything  for 
money,  and  them  kind  o'  Christians  won't  do 
to  make  fast  to;  they  pull  out  too  easy." 

"  I  know  he  is  prudent,  but  I  do  n't  believe 
he  'd  do  anything  wrong  to  get  money." 

"  You  do  n't,  hey  ?  Look  at  that  hoss  he  sold 
Elder  Steele.  He  ain't  wuth  fifty  dollars,  and 
he  sold  him  for  a  hundred  and  seventy-five." 

"  But  he  gave  fifty  dollars  of  the  amount  for 
preaching." 

"That  was  done  jest  to  sell  the  hoss.  He 
never  give  more  'n  five  dollars  a  year,  afore. 
That's  one  of  Lee's  Yankee  tricks." 

"Wasn't  the  Elder  satisfied  with  his  bar 
gain?" 

"Satisfied!  He  tried  to  sell  him  back  the 
next  week  for  seventy-five  dollars,  and  Lee  told 
him  he  had  all  the  bosses  he  could  winter. 
He's  a  reg'lar  plug,  and  ain't  wuth  nothin'  to 
pull." 

"Why  didn't  he  bring  the  matter  before  the 

church?" 

20 


306  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  A  hoss  trade  's  a  boss  trade,  in  this  country, 
and  the  church  could  n't  make  nothin'  out  of  it."' 

"  But  swindling  is  swindling,  in  this  country, 
and  the  church  could  make  something  out  of 
that." 

"Lee  didn't  warrant  the  hoss  to  pull.  lie 
jest  told  the  Elder  he  had  a  gentle  hoss  and  he 
asked  a  hundred  and  seventy-live  dollars  for  him, 
but  seein'  'twas  him  he'd  let  him  go  for  a  hun 
dred  and  twenty-five  cash,  and  give  fifty  for 
preachin'.  That's  the  way  they  fixed  it." 

"  Is  the  horse  gentle?  " 

"  He  's  so  gentle  he  won't  start  if  you  build  a 
fire  under  him." 

"But  he  can't  compel  the  Elder  to  keep  him." 

"No.  The  Elder  can  trade  him  off  to  some 
body  else,  if  he  wants  to,  but  he  can't  git  him 
back  on  Lee.  A  hoss  trade  between  two  Chris 
tians  ain't  allers  a  Christian  hoss  trade." 

"  I  '11  bait  a  nine-pence  that  Lee  couldn't  git 
to  windward  of  Parson  Green  in  a  hoss  trade." 

"  No;  'cause  he  's  a  good  judge  of  a  hoss." 

"Yes;  and  he's  a  good  judge  of  men,  too." 

"  He  's  a  reg'lar  brick." 

"  He  's  a  genuine  Christian." 


Heeling  and  Toeing.  307 

"So  he  is,  Uncle  Henry;  but  he  knows  some- 
thin'  besides  what's  in  the  Bible/' 

"  Yes;  he  knows  all  about  the  Bible,  and  some 
things  outside  of  it.  He  knows  enough  about 
the  world  to  make  Jiim  a  useful  preacher." 

"  Dad  says  he  's  a  better  lawyer  than  'Squire 
Gray." 

"  'Squire  Gray  ain't  a  lawyer  any  more.  Mr. 
Ains worth  had  him  turned  out." 

"  I  Ve  heered  of  a  church  that  was  so  bad  that 
they  could  n't  turn  a  man  out  'cause  there  was 
no  place  to  turn  him  to,  but  I  'd  like  to  know 
where  they  'd  turn  a  lawyer." 

"  He  has  been  disbarred,  Sam." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Barred  out." 

"  He  cannot  practice  before  the  courts.  He 
was  charged  with  unprofessional  conduct,  and 
the  charge  was  sustained." 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  He  tried  to  swindle  Deacon  Wells  out  of  a 
thousand  dollars." 

"  It  do  n't  seem  to  me  there  was  anything  un- 
profeshunal  about  that." 


A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  The  members  of  the  Bar  looked  at  it  in  a  diff 
erent  light,  Sam." 

"  Is  lawyers  gittin'  onest?" 

"Were  they  not  always  honest?  " 

"  Dad  says  not.  When  mam  told  him  I  'd 
make  a  fust  rate  lawyer,  he  said  I  was  too  onest 
for  a  lawyer  and  would  do  better  sawin'  wood." 

"  That  ain't  what  you's  born  for,  Sam." 

"What  was  I  born  for,  Jack?" 

"Settin'  for  picters  in  a  country  where  they 
raise  corn." 

"  You  're  too  cute  to  live  in  Maine,  Mountain 
Jack.  You  orter  go  to  Novy  Skoshy  alongst 
Jack  Blunt." 

^"The  mistress  got  a  letter  from  Jim  Wells' 
uncle,  to-day,  and  he  says  Jack  Blunt  has 
reformed  and  is  a  good  Christian." 

"Well,  I  declare!  That's  'mazin'  surprising 
as  Aunty  Marsh  says." 

"Not  very  surprising,  Uncle  Henry.  Jack 
is  a  kind  hearted  man,  and  there 's  always  a 
chance  for  such  a  man  to  repent." 

"Yes;  he  has  some  good  streaks,  but  they  are 
like  streaks  of  fat  in  a  potato-fed  pig  —  rather 
seldom." 


Heeling  and  Toeing.  3°9 

"  If  he  will  serve  tlie  Lord  as  well  as  he  has 
served  the  devil,  he  wiU  make  a  very  good 
Christian." 

"  He  can't  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"  He  is  fifty  years  old,  and  his  working  days 
are  over." 

"  Can't  the  Lord  renew  his  strength?  " 

"  The  Lord  does  n't  work  that  way,  Charley. 
If  a  man  spends  his  best  days  in  working  for 
the  devil,  he  can't  ask  the  Lord  to  give  him  a 
new  lease  of  life,  even  to  devote  to  His  service." 

"  Do  you  s'pose  Jack  Blunt  will  stick? " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  he 's  a  rattler,  and  them  church  meetin's 
will  be  too  dull  for  him." 

"Parson  Green's  church  meetings  are  not 
dull." 

"  But  there  ain't  many  Parson  Greens.  Xovy 
Skoshy  ain't  settled  with  'em." 

"There  ain't  enough  Parson  Greens  in  the 
world,  I'll  admit,  Sam;  but  maybe  Jack  will 
run  afoul  of  one  down  there." 

"I  hope  he  will,  for  I'd  like  to  see  Jack 
stick." 


3io  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Then  why  do  n't  you  follow  his  example, 
Sam?" 

"  There  's  lots  of  time.     I  'm  only  eighteen." 

"That's  the  devil's  argument.  God  says: 
'They  that  seek  me  early  shall  find  me.' 
There's  danger  in  delay." 

"But  I  want  to  have  a  good  time,  Uncle 
Henry,  and  I  can't  do  it  if  I  jine  church." 

"  That 's  another  one  of  the  devil's  arguments. 
You  can  enjoy  yourself  in  serving  the  Lord.  It 
is  the  only  real  pleasure  I  ever  had  in  this  world, 
and  the  only  joy  that  I  hope  for  in  the  next." 

"  I  want  to  take  most  of  mine  in  the  next." 

"You  can't  spend  your  days  in  sinning  and 
fully  enjoy  the  next,  even  if  you  do  repent  at  the 
eleventh  hour." 

k'What  do  you  know  about  religion, 
Charley?" 

"Not  much,  I'll  admit;  but  it  don't  look 
reasonable  that  Jack  Blunt  should  enjoy  so 
much  of  Heaven  as  Parson  Green  " 

"  Heaven  is  Heaven,  Charley,  and  if  a  man  is 
fortunate  enough  to  get  there  he  '11  enjoy  it.  I 
do  n't  believe  in  these  new  fangled  ideas  about 
progression  and  degrees  of  happiness.  When  a 


Heeling  and  Toeing.  3 1 1 

man  's  happy,  he 's  happy.  That 's  plain  enough, 
is  n't  it?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  when  a  man's  cup  of  happiness  is  full, 
what 's  the  use  of  running  it  over?  Heaven  will 
fill  everybody's  cup,  and  the  fool  will  be  as 
happy  as  the  wise  man  there.  There 's  nothing 
in  the  Bible  about  one  man  enjoying  more  than 
another  in  Heaven." 

"  This  is  God 's  earth,  Uncle  Henry,  and  why 
should  one  man  enjoy  more  than  another  here? " 

"  There  is  no  comparison  between  earth  and 
Heaven,  Charley.  The  fool  enjoys  more  than 
the  wise  man,  here.  If  his  enjoyment  depended 
on  his  knowledge,  this  would  not  be.  Circum 
stances  make  us  happy  or  unhappy  here.  It 
will  not  be  so  in  Heaven." 

"  I  'm  not  willing  to  admit  that  the  fool  enjoys 
more  than  the  wise  man  here." 

"Observation  will  teach  you  that,  Charley." 

"  My  observation  has  not  taught  me  that  the 
ignorant  are  happier  than  the  wise." 

"  Then  you  are  not  a  careful  observer.  Show 
me  a  happier  man  than  Enoch  West,  and  he 


312  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

don't  'know  enough  to  warm  his  feet  when 
the}7  're  cold." 

"Jim  Wells  is  as  happy  as  he." 

"  Jim  Wells  is  an  exception  among  wise  men, 
and  still  I  don't  believe  he's  as  happy  as 
Enoch." 

"  He  is  always  cheerful." 

"  You  do  n't  see  him  '  always,'  Charley.  Per 
haps  he  keeps  his  'skeleton  in  the  closet.' 
There 's  many  a  sad  heart  veiled  by  a  cheerful 
face." 


CHAPTEE   XIY. 

AT    HOME. 

AY  four  weeks,  Bessie.    Two  months  seems 
a  long  time  to  wait." 

"  I    can't    get    ready   in   four    weeks, 
James." 

"Why  not?" 

"  There  are  so  many  little  things  to  do." 

"  Leave  them  undone  until  after  our  marriage, 
Bessie." 

"There  are  some  things  that  must  be  done 
before.  I  can't  possibly  get  ready  in  four 
weeks,  but  will  compromise  with  you  and  say 
six  weeks  from  to-day." 

"  All  right.  As  we  may  have  to  compromise 
our  differences  after  marriage,  perhaps  it  will  be 
well  to  commence  before." 

"  We  will  have  no  differences  after  marriage, 
James." 

"  I  hope  not;  but  we  are  human." 
(313 


314  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Aye;  and  we  realize  it.  That  will  prevent 
discord.  I  think  our  married  life  will  be  singu 
larly  happy.  We, know  each  other  so  well." 

"Yes,  Bessie;  you  know  all  my  weak  points, 
and  will  take  the  step  with  your  eyes  open." 

"  I  do  not  hesitate  to  risk  my  happiness  in 
your  hands.  I  have  not  discovered  the  weak 
points  you  speak  of." 

"  Love  is  blind,  you  know." 

"  My  love  is  not  blind,  James.  If  there  were 
weak  points  in  your  character  I  could  see  them." 

"  I  am  painfully  conscious  of  their  existence, 
Bessie." 

"  As  I  have  looked  for  them  in  vain,  I  will 
take  your  word  and  look  no  further.  I  shall 
never  discover  them." 

"  You  cannot  fail  to  see,  and  I  hope  you  will 
correct  them." 

"  I  laid  aside  the  rod  when  my  school  closed." 

"You  will  still  be  a  teacher,  Bessie." 

"  Then  we  will  have  to  vary  the  rule.  I  shall 
recite  to  my  pupil." 

"  You  must  help  me  brush  up  my  Greek  and 
Latin." 

"I  am  better  qualified  to  brush  your  coat." 


At  Home.  315 

"  You  are  incorrigible." 

"Then  you  will  not  attempt  to  correct  me?" 
" 2so.     I  shall  turn  you  over  to  mother." 
"You  will   leave  me  in   excellent   hands.     I 

love  your  mother." 

"  So  do  I.     We  agree  on  that  point." 

"  Your  mother  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  and 

I  am  so  glad  she  will  live  with  us." 

"  With  mother,  Harry,  and  an  occasional  visit 

from   Uncle   George,   we   shall  be  very  happy, 

Bessie." 

"  God  is  good." 


"What  kind  of  a  wedding  do  you  want, 
Bessie? " 

t;  You  must  consult  James  on  that  point, 
mother." 

"  I  like  to  have  you  call  me  i  mother,'  my  dear 
child." 

"  I  am  so  grateful  for  the  privilege.  My  dead 
mother  comes  to  me  in  my  dreams,  and  thus  I 
keep  her  image  in  my  memory.  I  was  so  young 
when  she  died  that  I  feared  I  should  not  know 
her  in  another  world." 


A   Century  of  Gossip. 

'  My  experience  is  not  unlike  yours,  my  dear 
child.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  three  years 
old,  and  in  my  orphanage  I  felt  the  need  of  her 
protecting  care.  We  met  in  dreamland,  and 
took  sweet  counsel  together  in  that  unreal 
world.  To  me  it  was  more  than  seeming. 
Like  you,  I  taught  school  several  years,  and 
when  my  burden  seemed  more  than  I  could 
bear,  her  presence  gave  me  strength  and  cour 
age.  There  is  nothing  so  dear  to  the  orphan's 
heart  as  the  memory  of  mother." 

:  'T  will  be  so  nice  to  have  a  living,  breathing 
mother;  one  to  whom  I  can  come  for  counsel 
and  advice;  one  whom  I  can  touch,  obey,  and 
kiss.  I  shall  love  you  very  much,  dear  mother." 

"  Not  more  than  I  shall  love  you,  my  child. 
But  about  the  wedding?  I  ask  James,  and  he 
refers  me  to  you.  I  ask  you,  and  you  tell  me 
to  consult  James.  Speak  out,  Bessie,  and  tell 
me  whether  you  want  a  public  or  a  private 
wedding." 

"  I  prefer  a  very  quiet  wedding,  mother." 

"  So  does  James.  Now  that  point  is  settled. 
Shall  the  ceremony  be  performed  here?" 

"As  you   like.     I   have   no  foolish  scruples 


At  Home.  3*7 

about  the  propriety,  mother;  but  would  prefer 
to  go  quietly  to  the  parsonage  and  have  the  cer 
emony  performed  in  presence  of  a  few  dear 
friends,  I  presume  James  wants  Parson  Green 
to  officiate?" 

"  Yes,  dear.     If  he  is  acceptable  to  you." 

"He  is  my  choice,  mother." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  suggest.  James  has  ex 
pressed  a  wish  to  be  married  at  the  parsonage." 

"  Then  that  question  is  settled." 

"Yes.     Shall  he  write  to  his  Uncle  George?" 

"  By  all  means.  Our  happiness  would  not  be 
complete  without  him." 

"  I  '11  write  to  George  myself.  It  may  be  too 
late  when  James  returns.  He  asked  me  to  see 
you  and  '  arrange  things.'  His  unexpected  call 
to  Washington  gave  him  no  time  to  attend  to  the 
details,  but  we  will  do  very  well  without  him." 

"  Yes,  mother;  we  can  make  the  necessary 
arrangements  in  his  absence." 

"  He  '11  be  here  in  time  for  the  ceremony." 

"If  not,  we  can  tell  our  friends  it  will  be 
'  postponed  on  account  of  the  weather.'  ' 

'•Wouldn't  'for  w^ant  of  a  bridegroom'  be 
better? " 


A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  Won't  the  weather  be  <  stormy  '  if  the  bride 
groom  doesn't  come  at  the  appointed  time?" 

"  No,  dearie.  The  little  cloud  would  be  dis 
sipated  when  he  did  come.  There  will  be  no 
storms  in  your  life,  either  before  or  after  mar 


riage/ 


"  I  believe  you,  clear  mother.  I  feel  that  my 
married  life  will  be  all  sunshine." 

James  returned  a  few  hours  before  the  time 
appointed  for  the  ceremony.  Uncle  George  was 
present,  and  of  the  small  but  merry  party  assem 
bled  at  Parson  Green's,  none,  save  the  bride  and 
groom,  were  happier  than  he.  "  What,  there 
fore,  God  hath  joined  together  let  not  man  put 
asunder."  No  lingering  doubt  disturbed  Parson 
Green.  Surely,  God  had  joined  James  Wells 
and  Bessie  Jones. 

"And  now,  Bessie,  I  want  to  know  how  my 
young  book-keeper  is  getting  along.  Is  he 
ready  to  go  back  with  me?" 

"  He  is  qualified,  Uncle  George,  and  if  Mr. 
Lee  will  consent  you  can  take  him  with  you,  but 
we  do  n't  intend  to  let  you  go  at  present.  You 
are  to  visit  Niagara  and  the  Hudson  with  us." 

"  And  spoil  your  wedding  tour?  " 


At  Home.  319 

"By  no  means.  Your  presence  will  add  to 
our  happiness." 

"  I  think  I  shall  take  Robbie  and  return.  I 
did  n't  make  arrangements  for  a  protracted  visit. 
If  I  can  leave  my  business  with  Robbie  I  shall 
see  you  next  winter  —  perhaps  go  to  Wash 
ington  with  you." 

"  I  am  not  an  active  member  of  Congress,  and 
shall  probably  remain  at  home  during  the  ses 
sion;  but  it  will  be  very  pleasant  for  mother 
and  me  to  have  you  with  us  while  James  is 
away.'' 

"  And  1  flatter  myself  that  it  will  be  pleasant 
for  James  to  have  me  visit  him  in  Washington, 
Mrs.  Wells." 

"So  it  will;  but  we  are  in  the  majority,  and 
he  must  yield." 

"He  may  prove  a  very  stubborn  minority, 
Bessie." 

"  Xo,  Uncle;  he  will  yield  gracefully  when  lie 
is  voted  down." 

"  Perhaps  your  mother  will  vote  with  him." 

"Here  she  is.     Ask  her." 

"  Are  you  going  to  Washington,  next  winter, 
Patience?" 


32O  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

"  That  will  be  as  James  says.  I  should  like 
to  go." 

"  There,  Bessie.     We  will  all  go  to  Congress." 

"  Then  I  shall  have  to  yield.  That  Js  the  way 
it  goes.  The  '  lords  of  creation  '  have  their  own 
way  when  they  really  want  it." 

"Yes;  and  poor,  down-trodden  women  must 
submit,  be  dragged  out  into  the  world,  wear  silk 
dresses,  and  eat  confectionery." 

"That  is  not  the  end  of  their  submission, 
Uncle  George." 

".N"o.  They  must  entertain  the  men  of  state, 
and  captivate  sages  and  philosophers  by  their 
bewitching  airs  and  bright  glances." 

"That  is  sarcasm,  Uncle  George,  and  it  needs 
no  label." 

"  It  will  be  true  in  your  case,  Bessie." 

"  If  I  can  hold  captive  one  of  the  wise  men 
of  the  nation,  and  retain  his  uncle's  esteem,  my 
ambition  will  be  fully  satisfied." 

"  That  is  already  assured ;  and  now,  like  a  ver 
itable  queen,  you  must  increase  the  number  of 
your  subjects." 

"  I  prefer  a  small  kingdom  and  loyal  subjects. 
My  heart  is  too  small  to  divide  into  parcels." 


At  Home.  321 

"The  human  heart  is  an  enigma,  Bessie.  It 
is  increased  by  division." 

"  You  may  be  right,  but  I  have  no  desire  to 
try  the  experiment." 

"  It  is  not  an  experiment.  It  is  an  established 
fact." 

"  I  shall  not  divide  mine  in  Washington, 
Uncle  George." 

"But  I  shall  take  a  little  piece  of  it  to  Nova 
Scotia,  my  dear  niece." 

"  I  hope  you  will  take  more  than  a  <  little  piece 
of  it,'  dear  Uncle;  but  you  must  bring  it  back 
to  Maine  in  the  early  autumn." 

"So  I  will,  if  my  life  be  spared." 


"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Lee.  I  've  come  to  see 
if  you  '11  let  Kobbie  go  home  with  me." 

"  I  can't  let  him  go  'til  next  winter." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  that  is  the  contract,  and  I  want  him 
to  get  my  winter's  wood." 

"What  will  it  cost  to  cut  your  wood?" 

"About  thirty  dollars." 

"  Here   are    your  thirty  dollars.     Tell  Eobbie 
21 


•- 


322  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

to  pack  his  trunk.  I  shall  start  next  Monday 
morning." 

"  He  hasn't  any  trunk." 

"  How  will  he  take  his  clothes? " 

"  On  his  back,  all  but  an  extra  shirt  and  pair 
of  socks." 

"  You  will  please  give  him  this  note,  and  tell 
him  to  buy  a  traveling  bag." 

"  I  've  got  an  old  one  that  I  can  sell  him  cheap. 
I  '11  hunt  it  up." 

"  All  right.  I  '11  get  him  some  clothes  at  St. 
John." 

u  I  'd  have  got  them,  Mr.  Wells,  but  this  is  a 
very  poor  place  to  buy  clothes." 

"  It  seems  so." 

Early  on  Monday  morning  Robbie  called  to 
say  good  bye  to  Bessie  Wells. 

"Be  a  good  boy,  Robbie;  attend  faithfully  to 
your  business,  and,  above  all  things,  be  particular 
in  choosing  your  associates." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  as  you  wish,  Mrs.  Wells.  I 
owe  you  so  much.  You  have  been  very  kind  to 
me,  and,  excepting  Mr.  Wells,  you  are  my  only 
friend." 

"  You  forget  your  best  friend,  Robbie." 


At  Home.  323 

"  I  should  not  have  known  Him  if  yon  had  not 
taught  me." 

''  When  you  are  tired  and  homesick,  Robbie, 
you  must  go  to  Him  for  comfort." 

"  I  shall  not  be  homesick  if  you  will  write  to 
me.  I  have  no  one  else  in  Elton  to  care  for." 

"  I  will  write  to  you  often.     Good  bye." 

"  Good  bye,  Mrs.  Wells.  God  will  bless  you 
for  your  kindness  to  me." 

"  Remember,  always,  Robbie,  that  God  is 
good." 

"  I  will  remember." 

Robbie  Bently  kept  his  word.  He  was  ever 
mindful  of  his  employer's  interest,  and  very  soon 
learned  the  routine  of  business.  He  knew  that 
Mr.  Wells  would  spend  the  winter  with  his 
nephew,  and  he  resolved  to  render  a  good 
account  of  his  stewardship  when  his  employer 
returned. 

"  I  shall  be  gone  four  months,  Robbie.  Your 
position  is  a  responsible  one,  and  you  will  have 
no  friend  to  advise  you.  Do  the  best  you  can, 
and  remember,  always,  to  do  right,  regardless  of 
consequences." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  as  you  wish,  Mr.  Wells." 


324  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"  All  right,  my  boy.  I  think  you  \vill  have 
no  trouble  in  mana^in^  the  business." 

O        O 

Mr.  Wells  called  his  employes  together,  told 
them  Robbie  was  authorized  to  transact  his 
business  during  his  absence,  and  requested 
respectful  obedience.  Robbie  was  popular  with 
the  men,  and  was  successful  in  managing  them. 
During  Mr.  Wells  absence  the  business  rapidly 
increased.  The  men,  remembering  his  kindness, 
cheerfully  worked  over-time,  and  Robbie  was  not 
compelled  to  employ  additional  help. 

"Robbie,  you  '11  have  to  keep  your  eye  on  Bill 
Jenkins." 

"Why,  Jack?" 

"  He  's  tryin'  to  git  some  of  the  men  to  strike 
for  higher  wages.  I  don't  like  to  'blow,'  but 
Mr.  Wells  has  been  good  to  you  and  me,  and  one 
good  turn  deserves  another.  You  'd  better  turn 
Bill  off." 

"  He  is  an  old  hand,  is  n't  he?  " 

"  About  forty,  I  guess." 

"  I  mean,  he  has  been  in  the  employ  of  Mr. 
Wells  for  some  time." 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  'd  a  starved  to  death  last  winter 
if  the  boss  hadn't  fed  him." 


At  Home.  32$ 

"Are  any  others  discontented?" 

"  No,  sir.     They  're  true  as  steel." 

"  Has  Bill  talked  to  many  of  the  men? " 

"He's  talked  to  me  and  Charley  Hay,  and 
Bob  Childs,  and  Ben  Dillingham.  I  don't 
know  how  many  more.  We  told  him  to  save 
his  breath  ?til  times  got  dull  agin,  and  then  use 
it  in  askin'  the  boss  for  bread  and  meat  for  his 
children/' 

""What  reply  did  he  make?" 

"  He  said  he  did  n't  want  to  work  under  a  boy 
what  had  n't  no  beard  on  his  face.  I  'd  let  him 
go  quicker  'n  shootin',  Robbie." 

"  How  many  children  has  he? " 

"  Four  or  five." 

"  I  '11  talk  to  him,  Jack." 

"  Talk  sassy  to  him,  Robbie.  I  've  been  a 
ptirty  good  Christian  for  a  year,  but  I  '11  git  a 
furlough  long  enough  to  lick  him  for  yon,  if 
you  want  me  to." 

"What  do  you  want  to  whip  him  for?" 

"  For  sayin'  you  hain't  got  no  beard." 

"That  is  the  truth,  Jack.  I  hope  you 
wouldn't  whip  a  man  for  telling  the  truth." 

"  'T ain't  his  place  to  tell  it.     You  don't  seem 


3 26  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

like  a  boy  no  more,  Eobbie;  and  if  he'd  kep  his 
clack  shet  the  men  would  n't  a  knowed  you  had 
no  hair  on  yonr  face.'' 

"  I  don't  care  what  Eill  says  about  me,  Jack. 
If  he  will  work  for  his  employer's  interest  I '}] 
not  discharge  him." 

"Well,  Eobbie,  I  s'pose  you're  right,  but  you 
can  stan'  more  'n  me." 

"  I  will  see  Bill,  to-morrow.  He  must  stop 
talking  such  stuff  to  the  men." 

Eobbie  «  talked  to  "  Bill  Jenkins  the  next  day. 
He  reminded  him  of  Mr.  Wells'  kindness  during 
the  dark  days  of  the  previous  winter,  and  soon 
brought  the  tears  to  the  man's  eyes. 

"I  s'pose  I'll  git  my  walkin'  papers,  Mr. 
Bently?" 

".No;  I  do  n't  want  to  discharge  you,  William. 
I  want  you  to  work  for  the  interest  of  the  man 
who  has  befriended  you,  and  not  try  to  make 
others  discontented." 

"  I  s'pose  you  '11  report  me  to  the  boss  when 
he  comes  home?" 

"  If  you  do  your  duty  from  this  time  until  his 
return,  there  will  be  nothing  to  report." 


At  Home.  327 

"  Here  's  my  hand,  young  man.  I  '11  remem 
ber  this  lesson." 

After  that  "  talk,"  no  man  worked  more  faith 
fully  for  Mr.  Wells  than  Bill  Jenkins.  If  all 
employers  were  as  wise  and  humane  as  George 
Wells  there  would  be  few  "  strikes  "  and  far  less 
suffering  among  the  laboring  classes.  Until 
employers  know  more  of  their  men  than  can 
be  gleaned  by  a  glance  at  the  pay  roll,  there  will 
be  no  solution  of  the  vexed  "labor  question." 

George  Wells  spent  a  pleasant  winter  in  Wash 
ington  with  James,  Bessie  and  Patience.  He 
was  proud  of  his  nephew,  whom  the  best  men  in 
the  nation  delighted  to  honor,  and  —  strange  as 
it  may  appear  —  he  was  pleased  with  Washing 
ton  society.  Early  in  the  spring  he  returned  to 
Windsor  to  "give  Robbie  a  rest." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  how  did  you  get  along  with 
that  last  cargo?" 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Wells.  When  I  wrote  you,  I 
thought  you  would  have  to  pay  demurrage,  but 
the  men  worked  so  faithfully  that  the  vessel  was 
not  detained." 

"  They  are  good  men,  Robbie,  and  are  always 
ready  to  do  their  whole  duty." 


328  A   Century  of  Gossip. 

"Yes,  sir.  They  have  worked  well.  I  have 
paid  all  bills,  and  here  is  a  statement  of  the 
business  transacted  during  your  absence.  I 
have  not  included  the  plaster  on  hand,  but  I 
think  there  is  fully  as  much  as  when  you  left." 

"  There  is  more,  Robbie.  I  looked  at  it  as  I 
came  in.  Thirty-one  hundred  dollars  net  profits! 
Why,  my  boy,  you  do  better  when  I  am  gone 
than  when  I  am  here  to  bother  you." 

"  No,  sir.  I  miss  you  very  much.  But  busi 
ness  was  better  after  you  left,  and  prices  were 
higher." 

"But  you  have  handled  an  unusual  quantity 
of  plaster  without  increasing  the  number  of 
men." 

"  I  had  them  work  over-time.  I  thought  it 
would  be  better  than  to  employ  more  men." 

"You  acted  wisely,  Robbie.  Hereafter  you 
may  conduct  the  business  in  the  name  of  Wells 
&  Bently." 

"But  you  don't  intend  to  give  me  an  interest 
in  the  business,  Mr.  Wells?" 

"No;  I  don't  intend  to  give  it  to  you.  You 
have  earned  it,  my  boy,  and  I  shall  not  with 
hold  it." 


At  Home.  329 

"  This  is  too  much,  Mr.  Wells.  I  cannot  repay 
you." 

"  Yon  'd  better  go  and  tell  the  men  they  can 
hare  a  holiday,  Bobbie." 

With  tears  of  gratitude  the  orphan  boy 
obeyed.  He  could  not  utter  his  thanks.  He 
would  place  a  stone  at  the  grave  of  his  mother 
and  sisters. 


"  I  '11  have  to  let  the  Jones  place  go,  Elijah. 
I  can't  meet  them  payments  and  keep  it." 

"  It 's  the  best  payin'  property  yon  've  got, 
father." 

"  I  know  it;  but  it  must  be  sold." 

"  We  're  gittin'  purty  near  the  poor  house, 
father." 

"  So  we  air." 

"  If  you  had  n't  been  a  fool,  we'd  be  forehanded 
this  blessed  minit." 

"  You  're  a  fine  speciment  to  call  your  father  a 
fool." 

"  That 's  jest  what  you  air,  dad.  If  you  'd 
staid  in  prison  we  'd  a  been  all  right." 

"  And  you  think  I  hain't  got  no  more  sprawl 


330  Century  of  Gossip. 

than  to  stay  in  prison  to  save  money  for  yon,  do 
you?  I  've  told  you  afore  that  you  can't  play 
your  father  for  a  nateral  fool." 

"If  you'd  staid  in  prison  you  wouldn't  had 
no  forty  thousand  dollars  divorce  money  to  pay, 
and  'Squire  Gray  wouldn't  a  got  that  thirty 
thousand  dollars'  wuth  of  property  for  gittin' 
you  out." 

"  If  you  had  n't  writ  that  deed  we  would  n't 
been  in  prison." 

"  'Twas  your  signiii'  it  that  sent  us." 

"  If  you  'd  a  been  half  as  smart  as  Jim  you 
could  a  marrid  Bessie  J ones,  and  we  wouldn't 
had  no  trouble." 

"  Marryin'  a  gal  agin  her  will  is  hard  bizness 
in  this  country,  dad." 

"  Well,  there  '11  be  enough  left  to  keep  me,  and 
you  can  dig  clams  for  a  livin',  for  all  I  care." 

"  That 's  as  good  as  smugglin'  rum." 

"  Go  right  off  to  bed,  Elijah." 


Uncle  Henry  is  still  working  hemlock  tan  and 
listening  to  the  gossips.  His  little  shop  is 
nightly  filled  with  good,  bad,  and  indifferent 


At  Home.  331 

Eltonians.  He  has  tried  in  vain  to  reform  the 
bad.  Philip,  the  philosopher,  calls  in  when  he 
thinks  the  severe  weather  will  keep  the  scandal 
mongers  at  home.  He  and  Uncle  Henry  arc 
still  of  the  opinion  that  "  Parson  Green  is  the 
best  Christian  in  Maine." 

Elder  Steele  has  gone  West.  He  found  that 
Elton  was  not  like  an  omnibus. 

Widow  Love  is  still  jolly.  She  scatters  a  great 
deal  of  sunshine,  and  is  especially  kind  to  the 
fatherless.  When  the  night  is  very  cold,  the 
Glenville  and  Berwick  stage  stops  before  her 
door,  and  the  passengers  wonder  "  what 's  up." 
In  two  minutes  the  driver  is  again  in  his  seat, 
warmed  and  cheered  by  the  cup  of  hot  coffee  he 
has  "jest  put  down." 

Nelly  Blunt  is  living  with  her  father,  in  the 
little  home  he  has  provided.  She  is  not  insane, 
but  there  is  no  joy  in  her  heart,  and  she  is  sadly 
awaiting  the  summons  that  is  delayed  only  when 
the  weary  soul  would  gladly  obey. 

James  Wells  is  still  in  Congress,  serving  his 
third  term.  He  stoutly  maintains  that  he  is  not 
a  politician ;  but  he  is  deeply  interested  in  the 
moves  on  the  political  checker-board.  lie  stands 


332  A  Century  of  Gossip. 

at  the  head  of  his  profession,  and  is  beloved  by 
all  who  know  him. 

Harry  Jones  is  already  a  "  good  office  lawyer," 
and  the  business  of  Wells  &  Jones  is  lucrative 
and  satisfactory. 

Ben  Love  and  Zach  Brown  have  grown  up  and 
gone  "West.  They  are  honest  and  true,  and  if 
they  can  manage  to  keep  out  of  Congress  they 
will  make  useful  citizens. 

'Squire  Gray  attends  Court  and  looks  on.  He 
regrets  that  he  made  "that  proposition,"  but  the 
members  of  the  Bar  have  taken  no  steps  for  his 
relief.  He  has  a  fondness  for  good  securities  and 
New  England  rum.  If  he  can't  practice  law  he 
can  paint,  and  the  bright  blossom  on  his  nose 
attests  his  proficiency.  He  tells  strangers  that 
he  injured  his  voice  pleading  at  the  Bar.  They 
look  at  his  face  and  "guess  the  bar-keeper  must 
have  been  very  deaf." 

Patience  "Wells  is  living  with  James  and 
Bessie.  She  is  tenderly  cared  for  and  fondly 
loved;  but  she  cannot  forget  the  past.  There 
are  wounds  that  Time  cannot  heal;  wounds  that 
Memory  is  ever  probing ;  wounds  that  only 
Death  can  efface. 


At  Home.  333 

Lawyer  Ainswortli  is  wearing  the  ermine. 
He  is  a  just  Judge,  and  enjoys,  in  a  marked 
degree,  the  confidence  of  the  whole  people.  He 
is  a  tried  friend  of  James  and  Bessie  Wells,  and 
he  spends  many  happy  hours  in  their  pleasant 
home.  "When  he  is  not  clear  on  a  law  point,  he 
takes  counsel  of  James,  and  his  decisions  are 
never  reversed  by  a  higher  Court. 

"  Honest  John  "  is  still  driving  on  the  Glen- 
ville  and  Berwick  stage  route.  He  takes  great 
pride  in  exhibiting  a  gold-mounted  whip  that 
was  "presented  by  a  gentleman  as  is  a  gentle 
man,  from  Novy  Skoshy." 


"  I  am  so  happy  to-day,  James." 

"I  trust  you  will  always  be  happy,  clear 
Bessie." 

"This  is  one  of  the  brightest  of  your  < com 
pensations,'  my  dear  niece." 

"  So  it  is,  Uncle  George." 

"  There  is  a  knock  at  the  door,  James." 

"I  will  answer  it,  if  you  will  take  this  bundle 
of  flannel,  dear  mother." 


334 


A   Century  of  Gossip. 


"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Deford.     Come  in." 
"I    can't    stop,    Jimmy.      Honest    John    is 

holdin'  the    stage   for   me.     I've   brought   you 

them  stockins." 


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•'Malpractice  may  conveniently  be  divided  into  two  kinds,  viz.: — 
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tric  Frictions — Electric  Douches  and  Pulverizations  —  Natural  Electric- 
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14  DAY  USE 


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